Getting through the Twilight
by Pipes of Pan
Summary: When you've had enough, maybe it's time to move on. Sam — before the shooting, before the MS. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

_...If you can get through the twilight, you'll live through the night.  
_Dorothy Parker

Glancing at the clock on her desk, CJ saved the file she had been working on all afternoon and locked her computer. She stuffed three files she needed to review before morning into her briefcase and grabbed her purse. "Carol, I'm out of here. Why don't you go home?" she called, switching off the desk lamp and pulling on her coat.

Her assistant poked her head in. "You're done? What's the occasion?"

"Dinner with the boys."

"The one from before Christmas?"

"The one that has been planned and cancelled three times? Yeah." CJ checked for her keys before shutting her office door. "I'll see you bright and early."

"Have a good time."

The halls of the West Wing were quiet this late in the day. The people who remained migrated to their desks, finishing enough work to justify going home before midnight. CJ nodded to the few who looked up as she passed, but kept moving toward the Communications bullpen.

"You ready?" she asked Toby, dropping her purse and briefcase on his couch.

"Almost. Donna just called to say Josh will meet us at the restaurant. He got caught in a thing on the Hill."

Backing up two steps, CJ poked her head around the corner. "Hey, Sam. You about ready to leave?" she asked.

"Don't talk to him!" Toby barked.

Surprised, CJ turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised in question.

"He has a speech to rewrite, and I don't want anyone distracting him. He's spent the last three days doing that all by himself."

"He has to finish it now, tonight?"

Toby stood up and moved so he could glare at Sam through the window. "It has to be in the President's hands first thing in the morning which means --" His voice grew progressively louder with each word. "-- It has to be done tonight! Doesn't it, Sam?" he finished at a yell.

Sam did not bother looking up or answering what was obviously a rhetorical question as far as both he and Toby were concerned. Toby turned away, and Sam let out a long, slow breath.

"You gonna come over when you're done?" CJ asked, dropping into one of his guest chairs.

Sam pointed at the draft on his desk. Red ink and cross-outs covered the pages. "I doubt you'll be there when I finish."

"I'll bring something back for you," she offered. "Tell me what you want."

"I'm not hungry, but thanks. Besides, once you're out of here, you shouldn't have to come back."

"You have to eat. Tell you what. I'll order it and make Josh bring it back."

"I ate lunch two hours ago, CJ so I'm really not hungry. I just want to finish this and go home."

He stifled a yawn and then ran a hand through his hair, leaving a few tufts standing on end. Adding that to the crumpled shirt and loosened tie, CJ realized how disheveled and tired he looked -- two words she never connected with Sam. Even in the final days of the campaign when they all had worked twenty-hour days, he had managed to look neat and fresh, and oh, how she had hated him for it. Thinking back over the last few weeks, though, she could not remember the last time she had seen the life she so associated with Sam in those clear blue eyes.

"CJ, let's go," Toby said from the doorway as he pulled on his coat. "Sam has work to do."

She rose to her feet, her eyes still on Sam's pale face. "Are you all right?"

"CJ, let's go," Toby repeated.

Sam's gaze returned to the computer screen. "Better go before he makes you stay after school, too."

"If you had just done what I told you to in the beginning, we wouldn't be having this discussion, Sam."

Sam frowned. "I didn't realize we _were_ having a discussion. By definition, a discussion involves the give -- "

"For God's sake, don't start this again," Toby snapped. "Just write the damn speech!"

CJ grabbed Toby's arm, moving him away before the 'discussion' escalated into something more. Grabbing her things from his office, she steered him through the lobby, staying between him and the temptation of arguing with his deputy.

"What was that all about?" she asked as they walked toward the restaurant.

Toby rubbed his face. "Sam being Sam. Lately it's been enough to drive me to drink."

"I work with the White House Press Corps so I never need an excuse," CJ told him. But as they neared the restaurant, a very real part of her wanted to retrace her steps to the West Wing. Something was not right, something she should have seen, should have known, but somehow in the hurry of her over-crowded days, she had missed it.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam finished the last line of the speech and hit 'save' before he could delete the whole thing and start over again. After three days of fruitless arguing and rejected drafts, he had finally written the lifeless prose Toby insisted was necessary to drive the points home. If good oratory brought people to their feet, he was reasonably sure that this would send those unlucky enough to hear it into comas. He shook his head in disgust over both the speech and the simple fact that he had given up trying to persuade Toby that he could write something better.

"Not everything is an Inaugural or a State of the Union. Can't you get that through your head?" Toby had shouted after reading the fourth draft.

"Maybe we should act like it is!" he had returned.

But on Wednesday, Sam realized he no longer had any fight left and had quietly surrendered. That would have scared him a month ago, horrified him six months before that, but now? He was tired and discouraged in a way he had never thought possible. Even in those last awful weeks at Gage Whitney, he had managed to keep a modicum of defiance alive. Now he did not know what he was battling for or against, who his allies were, or what his place in all this was.

He had not slept well in days, and he had spent the previous night pacing as he turned things over in his mind. First there was Toby. Eight weeks ago they had had the same differences of opinions, but now they exploded into full-blown arguments without much provocation. Coupled with that was Toby's new policy of sitting in on any meeting Sam chaired. He might not stay for the whole thing, but the meaning was clear to Sam, at least. He was keeping an eye on what his deputy was saying and doing. For his part, Josh cavalierly dismissed any opinion Sam expressed, regardless of the audience, and effectively shut down every initiative and compromise Sam suggested. Leo openly backed Josh at every turn, and Sam was certain he was behind Toby's sudden interest in Sam's daily schedule. He could not remember the last time he had been sent to the Hill as anything more than support staff for Josh or Toby.

Then there was President Bartlet himself. Sam had said it himself on more than one occasion -- _the President seldom, if ever, listens to my recommendations_. They had not spoken at length for months, and the President no longer asked him his opinions. Sam had tried repeatedly over the last week to see him, but each time Mrs. Landingham had gently informed him the President did not have a free moment and would not for the foreseeable future. Sam knew he did not have Josh's political acumen nor Toby's shrewd perceptions, but he had spent hours familiarizing himself with issues no one else bothered with. His age and his years away from politics might have been liabilities a year ago, but he had worked to overcome them. When had it become impossible to have his voice heard? What exactly had he done to merit this treatment?

At half past three, Sam had started writing. Even now, his stomach clenched as he opened his briefcase. He drew out three letters and laid them on his desk. The President, Leo and Toby. One for each. Pulling the pen from its holder, he signed and dated them. When he was finished, he took a breath and pressed his shaking hands flat against the desk. It was done -- _he­ _was done.

Sending the speech to print, he placed each letter in an envelope, noting distantly that Cathy had replenished the supply in his drawer. He picked up the stack of notes on upcoming speeches and projects he had assembled and took them into Toby's darkened office. Putting the folders in the center of the blotter, he placed the envelope on top where Toby would find it when he came in.

Collecting the speech from the printer, he placed it with the envelope in one of the blue folders the President preferred. Taking that and the letter for Leo, he walked through the empty corridors to the Oval. To his surprise, Mrs. Landingham was there, putting on her coat.

Sam held out the folder. "For the President."

"He just left for the Residence, dear. If you hurry, you can catch him."

"Th-there's no reason to bother him tonight. He's expecting the speech tomorrow morning."

She nodded and took the folder from his hand. "I'll make sure he sees it first thing." Putting it on her desk, she looked at him and he almost cringed at the sharp intelligence in her eyes. "Is everything all right, Sam?"

"It's been a long week," he hedged.

"Thank heaven tomorrow is Friday -- not that it means much around here."

Sam backed toward the doorway. "You'll make sure the President gets that?"

"First thing."

"Thank you."

"Good night," she called as he headed to Leo's office.

Margaret's office was dark, and no light showed under Leo's door when Sam slipped in. He added the last envelope to the basket Margaret had trained them all to use. With a quiet sigh, he headed back to his own office. It was done; there was no turning back now.


	3. Chapter 3

Toby unlocked his door just before seven on Friday morning, dropping his briefcase and newspapers on the corner of his desk. He hung up his coat and grabbed his coffee mug. He had already drunk a pot at home but this late in the week, he needed another jolt to feel halfway human. It was Ginger's day to open the office so the coffee would be at near lethal strength, exactly what he needed.

Mug in hand, he returned to his desk and dropped into the chair. Without thinking, he grabbed the remote and turned on the television. He had watched CNN since getting out of bed, but had not spotted anything requiring immediate attention. That, however, could change in an instant. With an eye on the screen, he took a sip of coffee, eyeing the pile of folders in the middle of his desk. Picking up the envelope lying on top, he slid a finger under the flap as he leaned back in the chair.

He glanced at the signature and frowned before reading the letter itself. It took a second reading before the words actually sank in. _…Necessary...circumstances dictate...effective immediately...appreciate your guidance and candor... _Sam was resigning — had already resigned according to this.

"Ginger!"

She appeared in his doorway, alerted by the tone and warned by the volume.

"Get Sam on the phone!"

"He should be here in —"

"Get him on the phone _now!_"

She crossed the bullpen at a run, ignoring Cathy and Bonnie's questions and nearly knocking down the intern who delivered the mail. Toby watched her pick up the receiver and start dialing before reading the letter for the third time. _Sam, if this is some sort of joke, I'm going to kill you slowly and painfully._

"He's not answering," she called from her desk. "I'm just getting his voice mail."

"Beep him," Toby ordered.

"I'll do it," Cathy volunteered. She dialed quickly, then hung up and stared at the phone.

Toby paced across the floor and looked into Sam's office. Everything was exactly as it usually was — the flag on the wall, the collection of bottles on the desk, but there was the laptop that was seldom out of Sam's reach and...

"Damn it!" He grabbed the key ring from his desk. "Ginger, try him at home," he yelled as he unlocked Sam's door. Beside the laptop lay Sam's cell phone and beeper.

"What is it?" Bonnie asked. "What's going on?"

Toby shook his head. "Call Margaret and see if Leo's available."

"Senior Staff is in half an hour," she reminded him.

"If it could wait half an hour, would I be telling you to call Margaret?"

She hurried to her desk and dialed. Turning her back on Toby, she spoke so quietly he could not hear what she was saying but could guess the gist of it.

She hung up and turned to face him. "She was about to call. The President and Leo are looking for you."

_And I bet I know why,_ Toby thought as he retrieved the letter from his desk. "Ginger, keep trying to get him," he called back over his shoulder as he hurried to Leo's office, oblivious to staffers flattening themselves against walls as he stormed past.

Margaret was waiting for him. "Leo said you should go right in."

Toby took a deep breath and walked into Leo's office, Margaret pulling the door closed quietly behind him. Leo stood behind his desk, watching the President pace.

"What the hell is going on, Toby?" the President demanded, waving a sheet of paper. "I was handed this when I walked through the door."

"I don't know, sir. I found the letter from Sam on my desk when I came in."

"And you have no idea what brought this on?" Leo asked.

"No more than what he wrote."

The President held out his hand. "May I read it? Anybody else would write one letter of resignation, but not our Sam. He had to write one for each of us."

Leo leaned forward, bracing his fists on his desk. "Has anyone tried calling him?"

"I had Ginger call his cell."

"And?"

"He left it on his desk, along with his beeper. She's trying him at home."

"He won't answer," the President predicted, "even if he's there." He handed the letter back to Toby. "That's quite a piece of writing."

Toby nodded, folding it and slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Yes, sir."

"We're not going to lose that voice," Bartlet declared. "We're not going to lose _him_."

Leo frowned. "Sir, unless you're planning to repeal the Thirteenth Amendment, we may have to."

"I'm not letting him go without a damn good fight, Leo."

"It's not unusual to have staffers leave. We've been extremely lucky until now, but things change. The private sector —"

"Not Sam, not like this. Leaving I can understand, but to have him disappear without a word to anyone?" The President turned to Leo. "What about Josh? What does he know?"

"Since he hasn't come storming in, I'm guessing he doesn't know yet. I'll have Margaret get him in here, CJ, too." As he picked up the phone, there was a light tap on the door. "Yeah?"

Margaret poked her head in. "Josh is here; CJ's on her way."

"Send him in," Leo instructed her.

"Good morning, sir," Josh said to the President. His eyes darted to Toby and Leo, clearly wondering why he had been summoned.

The President nodded. "Josh."

CJ appeared behind him. Looking at their faces, she mumbled, "Oh, God," before closing the door and leaning against it.

"Is something wrong?" Josh asked. "'Cause I was planning on having a good day, and I have a feeling that's not going to happen now."

"Not so much, no," Toby muttered.

Leo looked at the President. "There's your answer. He doesn't know."

"I don't know what?" Josh turned to CJ. "Do you know?"

"Yeah, I think I do." Her eyes met Toby's across the room. "It's Sam, isn't it?"

Toby nodded and gripped the back of a chair. The surprise and shock were fading, replaced by slowly rising anger: anger at Sam certainly for taking this drastic step without talking to him, but anger at himself for not seeing the need for that conversation long before this.

Josh turned to Leo. "Sam? What about him?"

Leo held out the letter he had received. Josh took it and read it, and then looked up in confusion. "This isn't what it sounds like," he announced, his voice unsteady. "It can't be."

"How can it not be?" Toby shouted.

Josh put the letter on Leo's desk and backed away with his hands raised. "Because Sam doesn't quit. I know that; we _all_ know that." He laughed, a tight choking sound that made Toby cringe. "You have to hit him with a baseball bat to make him stop, and even then it's not always possible. I don't know what that is," he said, pointing at the letter, "but Sam doesn't quit."

"Well, that's a little odd," Toby snapped, "because he wrote three letters, and all of them said the same thing! If there's some meaning to 'resign effective immediately' that I've missed, I wish you'd tell me what it is!"

CJ moved to Leo's desk. "May I?" she asked, pointing at the letter Josh had left on the edge. When Leo nodded, she picked it up and scanned the lines.

Josh ran both hands through his hair. "What the hell is he thinking?" Realizing the President was still in the room, he added a belated, "Sir."

Leo frowned. "We were hoping you'd be able to tell us."

"Me? No. It wasn't my week to watch him!" Josh registered the unsympathetic faces around him. "What?"

CJ glared at him. "It wasn't your week to watch him? Good lord, Josh, do you ever listen to yourself?"

"Hey, I've been busy!"

"We're all busy!" CJ fired back. "And that's no excuse for any of us!"

Charlie appeared in the doorway that connected with the Oval Office. "Excuse me, Mr. President. Admiral Fitzwallace is waiting, and Mrs. Landingham says you're already twenty-one minutes behind schedule."

"Thank you, tell Fitz I'll be with him directly." The President waited until the door closed, and then looked steadily at each member of his senior staff in turn. "I want this fixed, and I won't accept any excuses. Am I understood?"

Leo answered for all of them. "Yes, Mr. President."


	4. Chapter 4

By two o'clock, Danny Concannon had filed the day's article, cobbling together enough from CJ's briefings to keep his editor happy and off his back. Pulling his coat from the back of the chair, he headed out into the grey, cold afternoon and turned towards 14th Street. He had not been to the bookstore there in a few weeks and figured he would idle away the time with a decent cup of coffee before walking back to the White House for the last briefing of the day.

Glancing up toward the leaden sky, he wondered if the forecasters were right about the rain over the weekend. The air still held the cold of winter, and the remaining piles of snow were edged with ice. It seemed more likely they would have sleet, if not more snow. Danny shoved his hands into his pockets and walked faster. It was not the day for a leisurely stroll.

Ducking around two women pushing baby carriages, he pulled open the heavy glass door and stepped into the three-story space. It was busy, as it usually was. College students lounged in the oversized chairs, talking to friends and on cell phones as they took advantage of the store's free wifi. Men and women in business suits and winter coats stood in line at the checkout desk, trying to finish up their errands before returning to work for the afternoon. The dark, alluring smell of coffee drifted down from the café on the second floor, and Danny headed for the stairs.

Cutting through the New in Print section, he glanced at one of the students. Dressed in a dark wool coat, jeans and a baseball cap, the kid looked vaguely familiar and Danny slowed, trying to place him. At second look, he was older than Danny had thought at first, a grad student, unshaven and wearing gla--

"Sam?"

Sam looked up from the book in his hand. "Hey, Danny. Have you read this?" he asked, showing him the cover.

"Yeah, over Christmas. You really have to read the first book in the series to understand that one at all."

Sam put the book back on the table. "The first one?"

Danny glanced around and saw a clerk he knew. "Carrie, do you guys have the first Redcliff book?"

"Sure, upstairs in Fiction." She dropped her voice. "It's on sale because the softcover is coming out on Tuesday. If you wait a couple of days, you'll save even more."

"Hardcover's okay," Sam told her.

She smiled at him, a full wattage smile that Danny had never seen before. "C'mon, I'll show you."

"That's okay, I'm going up anyway," Danny announced and fought a grin at the glare she shot him. "I can point him in the right direction."

"Well, if you need anything, just yell."

Sam smiled. "Thanks."

"What are you doing? Day off?" Danny asked as they climbed the stairs.

"My parents sent a gift card for my birthday last year that I haven't had a chance to use. Thought I should do it before it expires."

Glancing at the signs, he led Sam to the aisle marked "Ra-Re", and Sam slipped past him to find the author he wanted. Taking a book off the shelf, he opened it and read the inside dust cover. Danny leaned a shoulder against the shelves.

"So you took a personal day just for that?" he pressed.

"Not really, I resigned last night. Do you really think this is worth reading?"

"You what?"

"Resigned." Putting the book down, he considered. "Maybe I need a good murder mystery. Read anything lately that you'd recommend?"

Danny glanced over the titles near him, and chose one. "This is pretty good. Could we back up a minute?"

Sam flipped over the book and read the back cover. "Sure."

"You resigned?"

"Last night. This sounds more like what I'm looking for. Has she written any more?"

Waving his hand toward the shelf, Danny stood back as Sam began pulling out titles. "You resigned," he repeated.

"Last night." Sam turned to him. "I suppose I should have said this is off the record."

"I'm asking as a friend, Sam."

"Damn few of those around," Sam mumbled, returning his attention to the books he had chosen. "I'm surprised CJ didn't lead the briefing with it."

Danny shook his head. "Not a word."

"Maybe they're waiting until Monday. Control the news cycle over the weekend."

"Why?"

"Why control the news cycle?"

"Sam!"

Sam looked over his shoulder. "You sounded amazingly like Toby just then. Believe me, that is _not_ a good thing."

"I'll keep that in mind. Now stop pretending you're obtuse and answer my question."

Sam sighed. "It was time, Danny."

"Which means what?" Danny pressed. "You're the last one I would ever expect to see walking away from this administration."

Picking two books, Sam started past Danny to the staircase. "You know what? I'm hungry. I could go for a really good hamburger, maybe a beer."

Danny followed a half step behind. He could not stop the rapid-fire questions coming out of his mouth as both reporter and concerned friend joined forces. "Have you accepted another job? Going back to practice law?"

"Danny -- "

"How did the President take the news one of his senior advisors resigned?"

That stopped Sam short. "'One of his senior advisors'?" He snorted. "Give me a break."

"But -- "

"Thanks for the help with the books."

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Lunch," Sam replied as if this answered everything.

"No, I meant -- "

"I know what you meant, and the answer is: I don't know. I've talked to a friend of mine who does environmental law, but I'm going to take some time and figure out what I want to do. The last time I rushed into something…" He shrugged. "Well, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be."

"Does -- "

"I'll see you around, Danny." And with a quick wave, he disappeared down the stairs.

Danny went into the café and ordered his coffee to go, drumming on the counter as he waited for it. The afternoon looked a lot more interesting than it had half an hour earlier.


	5. Chapter 5

CJ called a full lid and let out a sigh of relief as she left the podium. They had managed to get through the day without a leak. Of course, only the senior staff and a few assistants knew Sam had resigned. Knowing that, however, had not prevented her from bracing herself every time someone raised a hand, her carefully worded reply ready.

"Josh is looking for you. Toby, too," Carol announced as they walked from the Press Room to CJ's office, "and —"

CJ froze in her doorway, and Carol stopped just short of running into her. Danny sat on the couch, arms stretched along the top. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" he asked.

"Get here before I do."

"Oh, _that_! Sit in the back, and slip out before you finish."

"Carol, lock my door from now on, will you?"

Her assistant nodded. "Gotcha. We can go over everything else later."

"Thanks." Dropping her pad on the desk, CJ began leafing through her messages. "What do you want, Danny?"

"I wanted to check on Gail and find out when you're planning to announce who's replacing Sam."

The feeling was akin to being punched. She stifled a gasp but knew Danny had seen her reaction. Still, there were rules to this game. "Replace Sam? Taking a day off is hardly cause for dismissal and certainly not newsworthy. I'm having my nails done tomorrow. Are you going to print that?"

Danny nodded, acknowledging the point, and she breathed a little easier. "As fascinated as _I_ am with your personal life, I think my editor and my readers would be a lot more interested in a change in the senior staff. This is the first major one since you guys took office, right?"

"I don't know where you picked up this little gem, but —"

"Sam."

"Sam what?"

"Sam told me."

"You talked to —" Stopping herself mid-sentence, CJ grabbed the phone and dialed. "Find Toby and get in here. What? It's CJ, you idiot!" Slamming down the receiver, she glared at Danny. "You waited until now to talk to me about this? When's the piece going to run?"

Danny stretched, thoroughly enjoying the moment. "There's no article, at least for now. Everything he said was off the record."

"Thank god for small favors."

"What is it?" Josh demanded, sliding into the room with Toby a step behind him. "What's so important?"

Seeing Danny, Toby rubbed his forehead. "This isn't good, is it? This is one more bad thing in a day of bad things."

"Close the door," she ordered him and waited until it was shut before turning to Danny. "Ask them. Go ahead, ask them what you asked me."

"Technically I didn't _ask_ you anything," Danny told her before turning to Josh and Toby. "I was wondering when you're going to announce Sam's replacement. You've had most of the day to come up with some names."

"Damn!" Josh smashed a fist against the doorjamb. "Where did you hear that?"

"Sam," CJ supplied.

"You talked to Sam?" Josh shouted. "How? We've been trying to get a hold of him all day. I even went over to his apartment."

CJ's jaw dropped. "You went to see Sam?"

"Yeah, I thought I could maybe... you know."

"Do what?" she demanded. "Yell at him until his ears bleed?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of talking some sense into him, but yeah, that works."

"We agreed you weren't the best choice for that!"

"You, Leo and Toby agreed. I've known him a lot longer than any of you have and —"

"It's a miracle he still speaks to you," Toby finished. "Not that that's true for any of us right now." He turned to Danny. "I take it Sam didn't call you."

"No, I ran into him at the bookstore on 14th."

"Danny isn't filing a story," CJ supplied. "Sam told him their conversation was off the record."

"Thank god he's finally learned that at least," Toby muttered.

Danny held up a hand. "Look, I'm not running the story, but I am going to persuade him to give me an interview." He winked at CJ. "And you know how persuasive I can be."

Toby sat down on the arm of the couch as Josh paced in front of the desk. "So you're here as a what? A friend?"

"Sam's friend."

"Did he…" Toby gestured.

"Spill his guts to me in the middle of Popular Fiction? No. He told me he'd resigned."

"That's all he said?" Toby persisted. "Because I don't think Sam's capable of two-word sentences."

"He might go back to practicing law."

"Where?" CJ asked.

"He didn't say where, just that he'd talk to a friend of his who's in environmental law."

"Did he say who?" Josh demanded.

"No, he said he'd talked to a friend," Danny repeated slowly, emphasizing each word.

Josh glared at him. "And you didn't grill him? I don't buy it. C'mon, Danny, he must have mentioned a name."

Danny rose to his feet. "Listen, as entertaining as this has been, this was a heads-up, nothing more. You know as well as I do how fast news travels in this town. You won't be able to keep this under wraps for long, so you'd better be ready when it breaks." He smiled at CJ as he opened the door. "Have a good weekend."

When he had gone, Josh slammed the door shut and dropped into an armchair. "Okay, I'll look into who this friend is, go through Sam's phone logs for the last couple of weeks. What do we do now that Danny knows?"

Toby shook his head. "What we were planning to do. Nothing's changed."

"But —"

"No one can tell him any more than he already knows, given that he's actually talked to Sam," CJ assured him. "Toby met with Bonnie, Ginger and Cathy; Leo told Margaret to keep an ear out for rumors; and the President has Charlie in the loop. As far as everyone else is concerned, Sam took the day off."

"Yeah, because that certainly isn't out of character," Josh scoffed.

CJ dropped her head into her hands. He had complained when they had settled on that explanation and every time it had come up since. It was not perfect, but it was the best they had. "Josh..."

"I know, I'm sorry. What do we say if he's not back on Monday?"

Toby grunted. "He's working from home. Since I've been on him all this week about distractions, he's decided to work at home on some policy stuff for the President. Cathy will tell anybody who needs him to talk to me."

"That'll stop 'em," Josh observed.

CJ opened a bottle of water and took a long swallow. "Where do we stand on tracking down Sam's new cell number?"

"I checked with Charlie an hour ago, and nothing's shown up yet," Josh said. "I know Sam, though, and he won't last a day without a cell. He'll be going through withdrawal by now."

"I don't know if we should rely on what we know about Sam because none of us saw this coming."

"We can straighten everything out; we just need to talk to him," Josh insisted for the umpteenth time. He turned to Toby for support. "Right?"

Leaning forward, Toby rested his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands together. His eyes focused on the rug at his feet, and his voice was quiet. "I've been, ah, thinking about that."

"Thinking about what? Toby, we've had this discussion." Josh's eyebrows rose as a thought occurred to him. "Wait, you can't mean we _shouldn't_ talk to him!"

CJ leaned forward, silently urging Toby to continue. Outside her office, a phone rang, the sound muffled by the closed door. Gail took a sudden frantic turn around her bowl, fast enough to cause a splash.

Toby looked up at the sound, startled from his thoughts. "I don't think we should talk to Sam," he admitted slowly.

Josh's mouth opened, but CJ held up a staying hand. "You don't," she prodded. "What _do_ you think?"

"I can't believe I'm actually saying this out loud." Toby frowned, then met her gaze. "I think we should listen."


	6. Chapter 6

Leaving CJ's office, Josh immediately headed for Margaret's desk. They had decided she would handle any and all requests from the senior staff pertaining to The Sam Thing, as Leo had dubbed it. Josh was not sure how much she had known before she appeared in his doorway that morning, but her "Leo's office, now" had been enough to get him moving without asking any questions.

She was on a call when he walked in, so he leaned against the file cabinets, folding his arms and trying to look casual. The desk lamp was on as were all the overhead lights, fighting the darkness of late afternoon and the coming storm.

"Yes, Mr. Secretary, I'm sure he's aware of that." She made a note on a pad, tapping the pen on her desk as she continued to listen. Turning to her computer, she hit the space bar and consulted the screen. "Shall I schedule you for Tuesday at three, or wait to hear from Ursula?" She nodded. "I'll take care of it, and email her a confirmation. You're welcome, sir."

She hung up and typed a few quick lines. "I'll bet you five bucks he's not free on Tuesday at three. Why can't they leave scheduling up to the professionals?"

"Hey, I have a pretty good idea what's on my calendar," Josh protested.

Margaret studied him for a minute, and he suddenly had the impression he had stepped into the middle of a minefield. "Okay, what's on it for Monday at noon?"

"Monday? A...meeting," he tried. "Lunch with...uh...somebody."

She waited, and after another fifteen seconds, he gave up. "Okay, I don't know what's on it exactly."

Margaret leaned forward, folding her hands on her desk as she warmed up to her subject. "Josh, it's not that I think you or anybody else is stupid or incapable of setting up meetings. What I'm saying is that _we_ -- Donna, Mrs. Landingham, me -- are the gatekeepers. If we take care of the details, you can take care of the important stuff. When somebody crosses the line, though, nothing gets done."

"You're absolutely right."

Margaret stared at him for a moment, obviously judging his sincerity. She nodded to herself, and Josh found himself sighing with relief.

"I need some phone records."

She pulled a folder from her top drawer and handed it to him. "Sam's for the last month. If you need to go back further than that, let me know."

Wow, you're good," he murmured as he opened the folder and glanced quickly down the list. A few he recognized immediately: his cell; Toby's; one with an area code he didn't recognize. He ran his fingernail across the line -- Sam's parents. Sam called home every other weekend, had since college. "Thanks," he called, starting out the door.

"One more thing -- " Margaret called.

Josh turned and nearly collided with Charlie.

"The President wants to see you," she finished.

He glanced toward his office, wondering if he should detour and put on his jacket. Going into the Oval in shirtsleeves was not unheard of, but he preferred not to.

"This will only take a minute," Charlie told him.

Josh nodded and followed him. The door was closed when they came around the corner. Charlie excused himself and, after knocking once, went in.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Landingham," Josh said and wondered why he always felt like he had regressed to the third grade.

"Would you like a cookie, Josh?" she asked, nodding toward the glass jar.

He helped himself to the last one. "Thank you."

"You've had quite a day."

Josh froze, a bite of cookie in his mouth. Shifting it to one side, he asked, "'A day'? Did the President say something about, ah, my day?"

"No, he didn't. I think everyone in the building heard the shouting match in your office this morning, though."

"That _really _wasn't my fault!"

Mrs. Landingham looked at him over the top of her glasses before turning her attention to a pile of correspondence. "I was here last night when Sam dropped off the speech for the President."

Josh swallowed. "You were? Did he say anything?"

"He usually chats for a few minutes, and when it's late, he always insists on walking me to my car." She set a letter aside. "Last night he looked stunned when he saw me, and he couldn't leave fast enough." She looked up at Josh. "And that's not like Sam."

"Actually, the looking stunned part is."

Charlie appeared in the door of the Oval. "He'll see you now, Josh."

"Mrs. Landingham, Sam -- "

"I thought you should know, dear. Now don't keep the President waiting."

"Yes, ma'am."

Leo looked up from a folder when Josh came in, and the President turned from the teacart with a cup and saucer in his hand.

"A cup of tea, Josh? It might go pretty well with that cookie."

Josh glanced at his hand where the cookie was leaving stains on the folder Margaret had given him. "Thank you, sir."

"Were there any cookies left in the jar?" the President asked, moving to the chair opposite Leo's.

"This was the, uh, last one," Josh told him. "Mrs. Landingham thought I deserved it after the day I've had."

"You'd think with the days I have, she'd give me one," the President grumbled. "Hell, she should give me a dozen."

"I wouldn't count on that happening any time soon, sir," Leo said, setting aside the folder as Josh sat down on the couch. "Josh, we wanted to do a quick sitrep on the Sam thing."

"I just got out of a meeting with CJ, Toby and Danny Concannon," Josh reported.

The President looked up. "Danny? Did something leak?"

"Sam told him," Josh announced, taking a sip of tea and deciding he really preferred coffee. "He ran into him in a bookstore."

"He what?" Leo demanded.

Josh placed the cup on the table to his right. "Which he?"

Leo glared at him. "Just start from the beginning, Joshua."

Josh did, omitting his own trip to Sam's apartment. He still refused to believe it was a bad idea, but preferred not to have Leo weighing in on it after the lengthy discussion they had had that morning.

"...So it's covered for now, and CJ thinks we're good through the weekend," he finished.

"Any luck getting in touch with Sam?" the President asked. "Charlie said the FBI still hasn't come up with a new cell phone number for him."

Josh shook his head. "And, if he's home, he's not answering his land line."

"I still think they should watch his credit card activity," the President said to Leo. "At least we'd know where he is."

"Sir, Danny saw him this afternoon so we know he's in Washington, and we agreed we wouldn't turn this into a manhunt. Sam does have a right to privacy."

The President stood up, Leo and Josh rising to their feet as well. "If he's not back on Monday, Leo, we'll revisit that. Josh, I want updates throughout the weekend."

"Yes, sir."

"Now take your cookie, and enjoy it somewhere else."

Josh smiled. "Thank you, Mr. President."


	7. Chapter 7

Friday evenings in the Residence were, whenever possible, informal. When it was only the President and the First Lady, they ate dinner on trays in the sitting room. When family and friends joined them, the chef served a casual buffet. After the hectic pace of the week, it was a relief to relax and watch a TV that was not tuned to CNN.

"Ma'am, everything's ready for dinner. Let me know when you want it served," the steward said as Abbey stepped back from the DVD player.

"Thank you, John," Abbey replied absently. Pointing the remote, she hit one of the buttons. They stood side by side, watching the television which refused to recognize the DVD no matter which button she hit. "Damn it, why can't I get the hang of this? I understand the one we have at the farm just fine."

"Shall I take care of it?" John asked.

"I'll do it," the President said as he came through the door. "It's one of the few things my wife trusts me to do correctly."

"Yes, Mr. President. If that's all, ma'am?" and at Abbey's nod, John left, closing the door behind him.

The President dropped into one of the club chairs and pulled at the knot in his tie. "Can dinner wait until I have a hot shower?"

"Do you want a drink to take with you?" she asked, moving to the back of the chair and massaging his shoulders. "My god, Jed, you're tense tonight."

He covered her hands with his. "It was a long day."

She leaned down and dropped a kiss on his temple. "What happened?"

"Sam resigned."

"Sam Seaborn?"

"He left letters -- for Toby, Leo and me." The President rested his head onto the back of the chair and closed his eyes. "And none of us understands why."

Abbey sat down on the chair opposite his. "I can't believe it. Not Sam."

"I can't either. Leo said things have been a little tense this week in Communications, but nothing they haven't been through before."

"What did Josh say?"

"Josh didn't know until we told him."

"That's impossible! Those two are thick as thieves."

"Josh said, and I quote, 'It wasn't my week to watch him.'" Rising to his feet, the President poured a healthy swallow of scotch into a crystal tumbler.

"May I read Sam's letter?"

He took it out of his briefcase and handed it to her. "It's beautifully written."

"Vintage Seaborn?" Abbey inquired, and he smiled faintly.

"When I read it, I heard his voice instead of mine. I'd forgotten he had his own."

"You've been spoiled, Jed."

The President nodded his agreement. "I wish I could bid him Godspeed and tell him to use that voice, Abbey, but you're right, I've been spoiled. I want his words, his oratory. I want him crafting _my _message. There's time for him; lord knows there's time. Now is my time to speak and be heard, and I want -- no, I _need_ Sam to do that." He sighed, the sound harsh and weary. "I'm going to go take that shower."

Abbey reached for her reading glasses and read the letter. The words were, as her husband had said, clearly Sam's. There was no mistaking their elegance. Underlying it was a sense of profound sadness and disappointment. She laid the letter on the table, wondering which disillusionment in an ocean full of them had doused his belief in the role he played in the Administration.

She poured scotch for herself, eschewing the tongs to drop a few cubes of ice into her glass. She took it with her to the half-moon window overlooking the West Wing. Hard winter rain pelted the glass, blurring the lights below. Taking a sip, she stared out into the cold, wet darkness.

She had heard of Sam before she met him three years earlier. Jed had been furious when Leo fired his original campaign staff, raging about the new people and refusing to learn their names. Ignoring him with the practice of over thirty years of friendship, Leo had continued building the team he wanted for the grueling weeks and months ahead. Abbey had met Toby soon after Jed had announced his candidacy, impressed by the speeches he had written within days of his arrival. His gruff mumbling amused her, and she had caught him with a twinkle in his eyes after besting her husband in an argument. Josh had come to the farm with Leo one afternoon for a meeting and stayed for dinner. His youth surprised her, but more so his knowledge. He knew the players, forecasting their probable moves, and underlining their vulnerabilities. When he and Leo discussed the strengths of the Bartlet staff, Josh brought up Sam's name several times, and Leo teased him about 'rescuing' Sam from a promising career in corporate law. Josh refused to rise to the bait, insisting Sam was a talented writer with a solid political mind; they just had to give him the chance to prove what he could do.

The following week Leo brought his people to the farm for an all-day planning session. Others would join the staff over time, but this was the core, the nucleus of _Bartlet for America_. Abbey greeted them at the door and showed them where to hang their coats. Grabbing the intern who had tagged along, she pointed him toward the kitchen.

"There's a coffee tray on the counter. Make yourself useful and take it in to them, will you? When they need more, Mary will make it for you."

He blinked and seemed about to say something. After considering the look on her face, he tucked his legal pad under his arm and took the tray into the library. She heard Josh say something followed by laughter before the door closed. That done, she hurried to grab her coat and bag before heading off to the hospital.

The day, like most days, had run much later than she had planned, and dark was coming on as she drove home. When she pulled up the drive, the intern was standing near the fence gazing out over the fields. His hands were in his pockets, but his jacket was wide open.

Rolling down the window, she called, "Button that coat now, mister!" and was gratified to see him jump and hurry to follow her command.

When Abbey reached the house, she heard voices talking over and through each other, louder and more relaxed than the hushed tones she had heard that morning. The meeting had ended for the day, and Jed had apparently relented and extended her invitation for dinner.

"Mary," she called, hanging up her coat by the side door, "is there anything I can help with?"

Their grey-haired housekeeper shook her head as she turned down the burner under one of the pots. "Everything's all set, Mrs. Bartlet. Dinner will ready in half an hour or so."

"How did things go today?" Abbey asked, peeking into the oven.

"The Governor and Mr. McGarry did a fair amount of shouting this morning, but things calmed down after that."

"And no one got underfoot?" Abbey asked, knowing strangers wandering around the house bothered Mary.

"No, they all stayed in the library, even had lunch in there so they could keep working. Only sent that nice young man for coffee a couple of times." The older woman tipped her head toward the door. "I'm all set here, ma'am. You go join your guests. I'll call you when it's ready."

Leo looked up and smiled when she appeared in the doorway. "Here's Abbey."

Immediately Toby and Josh were on their feet, Toby pouring her a martini from the pitcher on the coffee table and Josh deeding his place on the sofa to her. She dropped down beside CJ Cregg, the only other woman present, and took a satisfying sip of her drink.

"Oh, this is perfect. Who made it?" she asked, looking around the room.

As Toby raised a reluctant hand, Jed glowered at her from his chair beside the fire. "What makes you think I didn't?"

She laughed, and he grinned in return.

"How did you know?" CJ asked quietly when conversation began flowing again.

"My husband makes a fantastic Rob Roy, a superlative Old Fashioned, and -- "

"A terrible martini."

"Yes," Abbey sighed, "but there's a wonderful bartender in town who makes one almost this good." She smiled at the other woman, feeling the pull of a kindred spirit. "Are you married?"

"No."

"Then put this on your list: My husband must be able to make my favorite drink."

CJ raised her glass in salute. "Duly noted."

"...Ask Sam, then," Josh said as they clinked their glasses. "He'll back me up on this." He looked around. "Where is Sam? Anybody seen him?"

"I saw him in the hall right after we finished," CJ volunteered. "And of course, for the nine hours before that."

Josh set his glass on the mantel. "I'll be right back. He's probably gone out for a walk."

The intern appeared in the doorway, his cheeks flushed with cold. He headed straight for the fireplace, tripping over Toby's foot. With a calm Abbey envied, Josh grabbed his arm and steadied him before his head hit the brick surround.

Leo shook his head and mumbled "klutz" under his breath, but his eyes held only amusement.

Beside her, CJ stifled a chuckle. "You all right, Sam?" she asked.

Sam detached his arm from Josh's grip and rubbed it. "Ow, yes."

So this was Sam Seaborn. The reality certainly did not match the picture she had created of the high-powered lawyer slumming for a few months on the campaign of a dark-horse candidate. Abbey remembered Josh's comment and the accompanying laughter when she had sent Sam in with the coffee tray. They obviously knew how daunting a task she had bullied him into, but Mary had said he had been the one to come back for more coffee. Obviously he had obeyed her order to the letter.

She looked across the room at her husband. "Jed, get him a scotch or something. I doubt he wants a martini."

"I'll get it, Governor," Josh volunteered.

She directed a frown at Sam. "Buy a pair of gloves and a hat. You don't play around with the cold up here."

Crouching in front of the fireplace, Sam held out his hands to the flames. "Yes, ma'am."

Josh handed him a glass of whiskey. "Now tell Toby I'm right about..."

And the discussion had begun again with everyone weighing in. Abbey had watched them with interest, seeing both established friendships and the flickers of alliances starting to form. Such different personalities, such different backgrounds, all in New Hampshire to help her husband win the most important campaign of his -- no, _their_ lives.

The wind whipped against the window, startling Abbey from her memories. She sipped her drink, almost surprised by the taste of scotch, not Toby's perfect gin martini. The rain had turned to sleet while she had sat staring out into the darkness. It was an awful, ugly night.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam measured coffee grounds into the filter, poured in water, but stopped just short of turning on the coffee maker. He had slept badly the previous night and not at all the night before that so perhaps coffee was not the thing to drink at this hour. Opening the large cabinet he used as a pantry, he put away the coffee and searched for the tin of teabags that disuse had pushed to the back of the bottom shelf. Lemon chamomile -- not his first choice, but it was not bad and might improve his chances at a night's sleep. Filling the teakettle, he put it on the stove and turned on the burner.

As he waited for the water to boil, Sam looked around the kitchen for some small chore to do. The dishwasher, he knew, was empty. He had run it that morning and put away its contents between going for a long run and taking a long overdue trip to the grocery store. When he had returned from shopping, he had found Josh's business card jammed into the vents in his mail slot. He had thrown it away as soon as he got upstairs.

Picking up a sponge, he wiped down the counters, and then took a mug from the cupboard and dropped in a teabag. When the water boiled, he poured it into the mug, inhaling the smell of lemon and something green and herbal. Sam drank tea so rarely that he watched the clock on the microwave, waiting the prescribed three minutes before taking out the teabag. Switching off the overhead light, he headed into the living room.

Wind lashed against the windows, and he pulled aside the heavy drape to look out. The rain had become sleet in the hour he had been home, and Sam thought it might turn to ice. Letting the drape fall back into place, he looked at the answering machine with its flashing red light. He had seen it the moment he walked through the door but had successfully distracted himself from checking it for the past hour.

Gripping the mug tighter, he walked over to the desk. "C'mon," he muttered. "Just check it. You said you weren't going to do this." And, with something just shy of super-human effort, he hit 'play'.

The first two were hang-ups from the same number, one he was familiar with -- the Communications bullpen. He deleted both. The third was Ginger, her voice low and worried.

"Sam, it's Ginger. Toby told me to call you at home. It's 7:35, and you're late for senior staff. I hope you're on the way, but please call me if you get this."

Sam hit the delete button again, jerking away when Josh's voice filled the apartment. Tea slopped onto his hand, and he wiped it on the leg of his jeans as he fought the urge to erase the message without listening to it.

"Sam, hey! Pick up if you're there." Josh waited and then drew a deep breath. Sam pictured him pacing back and forth in his office. "Look, I just got out of Leo's office, and I gotta tell you everybody's pretty upset. I don't know what's going on with you, buddy, but let's sit down and talk, okay? Give me a call; I'm on my cell." There was another pause broken by a rough sigh. "We can straighten everything out, Sam, just call me."

The beep signaled the end of the message, and Sam stabbed the button. "I'm not in the mood for a 'Lyman Knows Best' lecture, Josh. I've been listening to them for a couple of months now, and I've had it."

The next message was the one he had been dreading, the one that had kept him awake for a good part of the night. The voice was as low and hard as he had ever heard it, and that never boded well.

"Sam, it's Toby. I've talked to Leo, and we're not accepting your resignation, not without talking to you and maybe not even then. What the hell are you thinking? You serve at the pleasure of the President of the United States. That means you don't -- "

Sam hit the button, ending the growing tirade. He did not need another rant from anyone, particularly Toby. He had had his fill over the past weeks.

The last message was from CJ. She was not part of this mess, not one of the reasons he had resigned. He would call her, if only to say good-bye.

"Hi, it's CJ. I know you're in town because I just talked to Danny -- and thanks for keeping it off the record, by the way. You made my life a lot easier. Anyway, I was hoping we could meet for a drink... or dinner... or lunch..." She chuckled at her own rambling, and Sam realized he was smiling as well. "You know, something involving food." There was a pause, and then a gentle sigh. "I know you've heard from Josh and Toby and god knows who else, so you're probably sick of us right now, but I'm worried about you, Sam. I want to make sure you're all right. Please call me, all right?"

Sam stared at the answering machine when the message ended but made no move to erase it. He was no longer angry; he was simply exhausted. He glanced down at notebook he had left open on the desk after finishing his letters of resignation. As he had fought for the right words, he had turned to the handwritten list of quotations he had compiled over the past two years. Most would never have been included in speeches, but they led his mind along wandering paths of words and meanings. One had stood out: _It isn't that they can't see the solution. It's that they can't see the problem._

He stumbled to the couch, spilling more tea and not caring. He thought of his bedroom, but he was too tired to make the effort required to get ready for bed. Stretching out with the mug on his chest, he stared up at the ceiling. Today had been long, and he was ready to end it. With inclement weather forecasted through Sunday, he planned to catch up on his sleep. Monday, and the future, seemed impossibly far away.


	9. Chapter 9

On Saturday, CJ took her time getting into the West Wing as snowplows made slow progress clearing streets covered with frozen sleet and slush. The forecasters were predicting an ice storm later in the day, and she planned to be home before it hit. As much as she disliked driving in snow, she hated ice. Josh teased her that all the years living in California had destroyed her enthusiasm for winter, but she had been sick of it long before she had left Ohio for Berkeley. Some people were simply not wired for winter, and she was one of them.

Signing in, she commiserated with the guard about the weather before heading to her office. She would drop off her things and then grab Toby for a cup of coffee in the Mess. Last week, Sam had left her fresh-brewed coffee and a cinnamon scone he had picked up at a shop near his apartment. When she had found him, he had been meeting in the Roosevelt Room with the rest of the speechwriters, so she had not interrupted them to thank him. She had intended to find him later, but the truth was that she had forgotten about it until now. It was a typical Sam gesture, random and sweet, brightening the end of a long week.

Carol was already in, and Donna sat on the corner of her desk. Both wore jeans and heavy sweaters, and clutched cups of hot chocolate.

"Oh, those look good this morning," CJ said as she unlocked her door. "Did you get them in the Mess?"

"Yeah, ask Derek to make it for you with extra whip," Donna told her.

Carol followed CJ into her office with Donna trailing along behind. Handing over phone messages and the morning mail, she asked, "Can we talk to you?"

As she hung up her coat, CJ waved at her guest chairs. "Sure, what can I do for you?"

Donna looked at Carol who signaled that she should do the talking. "We had a, uh, question," she began, "and I don't want to ask Josh. He can't lie, but he won't tell me the truth either."

"And since you'd like to be home before midnight, you want to avoid his explanation," CJ finished as she dropped into her chair.

"Exactly!" Donna stopped, looking embarrassed she had agreed so readily.

Carol jumped in. "So what we decided to ask you if there's something going on, something we should know about."

"This is the White House. There's always something going on," CJ reminded them. "You're going to have to be a little more specific."

"That's what we don't know," Donna allowed. "It's like something's wrong -- off, I guess, but nobody's talking about it. I asked Margaret if she had heard anything, and she said no."

"And I talked to Bonnie, and she said the same thing," Carol continued.

"So I'm your go-to on this? Because I've got to tell you, the junior staff usually has the inside track on rumor and innuendo."

Donna shook her head. "That's just it, we don't think it's that. It's something bad, something really bad. Josh took off for at least an hour yesterday morning without telling me that he was leaving the building. I didn't know he'd left until he came back. When I asked him where he'd gone, he nearly took my head off. And then he and Congressman Beach had a shouting match that I'm sure they could hear in the Oval."

"I tell ya, you can't beat the free entertainment around here."

"But, CJ -- "

"Donna, c'mon. Beach has been furious with Josh since he quashed that rider Beach tried to attach to the hate-crimes bill, and they didn't like each other much before that."

"But Josh usually throws him out before he loses his temper. Yesterday he was just itching for a fight. I could see it when I showed the Congressman into his office."

"Maybe he was tired, maybe it was Friday, or maybe he was sick to death of Roy Beach and his 'I've been in Congress since before you were born' attitude."

Donna looked at Carol for help, but her co-conspirator just shrugged. "You have to admit, it was weird, even for Josh."

"That's our boy," CJ pronounced, standing up. "Weird is part of his inconsiderable charm."

"Well, I'm not giving up," Donna declared. "I'll go ask Sam if he knows."

Carol shook her head. "He's not in yet. His door was closed when I walked by, and the lights were still off."

"Darn! He always knows what's up with Josh." Donna glanced at her watch. "Speaking of whom, I should get back to my desk before -- "

"Donnatella Moss!"

"-- He gets in." She smiled at CJ. "Thanks for listening. I'll let you know when I find out what's going on."

CJ followed her out. "I'm going to the Mess," she called as she headed for Toby's office. He was reading _The Post_ when she walked in, frowning over something on the editorial page. "Do you have the key to Sam's office?"

Reaching into his drawer, he pulled out a key ring and tossed it to her. "Here. Why?" he asked, following her.

"Carol already noticed that Sam's door is shut. If we're going to keep up this charade, we have to make it look like he's here."

Turning on both lamps and the TV, CJ booted up the laptop. Toby took the dictionary off the credenza and left it open on the desk with a pen and a legal pad covered with Sam's handwriting beside it. CJ pulled the chair away from the desk so it looked as if Sam had just walked away. They stepped back and inspected their work.

"Looks okay," CJ acknowledged slowly.

Toby frowned, rocking slowly forward and back. "Got it," he mumbled to himself after a moment. Grabbing Sam's coffee mug, he set it beside the laptop. "Now it's right."

"I'm going to the Mess to get a hot chocolate, want one?" CJ asked.

"Hot chocolate?" Toby repeated as if she were speaking some foreign language. "No, since I'm not eight, I think I can do without it."

"I forgot, you were born drinking coffee, weren't you?"

"And scotch," Toby added, following her out of the bullpen.

She glanced at him as they continued toward the Mess. "So you'd be coming with me because..."

"I could use a bagel."

"I thought you didn't like the ones in the Mess."

"If it's between their bagels and none at all, theirs are fine."

"You didn't stop after temple this morning?"

He frowned as they started down the stairs. "Did _you_ stop for coffee this morning?"

"No, but it's not my Saturday morning tradition."

"It was cold, wet, and the parking was nonexistent. End of story."

Josh caught up with them at the door to the Mess. "Hey, what's up with Sam's office? I just walked by and —"

"That was us," CJ told him before turning away to order.

"You? Why would you..." Comprehension lit his eyes. "Ah, subterfuge."

"Donna Moss told me to ask for extra whipped cream," she said to the kid behind the counter, making sure his nametag read 'Derek' before she returned her attention to Josh. "Your assistant's looking for him already, and there are bound to be others."

"Why's Donna looking for Sam?"

"Because she's wondering what was up with you yesterday. Did you really think she wouldn't notice that you disappeared for an hour?"

Josh helped himself to coffee. "I shouldn't have snapped at her when she asked me where I went."

"And you yelling at Beach sure wasn't a sign something was up, was it?" CJ inquired, taking the hot chocolate from Derek and thanking him.

"That had nothing to do with... you know, the thing," Josh mumbled as they joined Toby at the table he had appropriated in the far corner. There were a few other people present, and most of them sat on the other side of the room.

"It had everything to do with it," Toby returned, his attention focused on the careful application of cream cheese to his bagel, "and you know it. You were pissed at Sam, so you took it out on Beach."

"First of all, I'm not pissed at Sam --"

"Of course you're pissed at Sam; we're all pissed at Sam!" Toby hissed.

Josh's voice grew louder as he tried to ignore the truth in Toby's words. " -- And secondly, on his best day Roy Beach is a pompous, arrogant ass!"

Toby shot him a look liberally laced with annoyance. "A pompous, arrogant ass we need supporting us on a couple of things. Before yesterday, we didn't have to worry whether he'd toe the line. Now someone is gonna have to go up to the Hill and play nice with him."

"Then find Sam and send him to hold Beach's hand! That's why we keep him around, isn't it?" Josh shouted.

One or two heads turned their way at his outburst, but Toby's glare effectively defused their interest. A small mean part of CJ's mind enjoyed the horrified look on Josh's face as he registered what he had said.

"God, that's not what I meant." He ran a hand through his hair. "I swear it wasn't!"

"Then why say something that stupid?" CJ demanded, keeping her voice low.

Toby rose to his feet. "Because he's an idiot!" Picking up his coffee and bagel, he turned to CJ. "I'll be in my office if you need me." And with a look that said 'handle this' in no uncertain terms, he strode toward the exit.

Josh's eyes darted around the room, searching for an explanation, a way out of this. "I, I... Oh god!"

CJ stood up, using her height to make him look up at her. "Josh, do everyone a favor. Don't call Sam and, for god's sake, don't even think about going to see him again. We don't need you using your god-given abilities to make this thing any worse than it already is."

"But he's --"

"If you say 'my best friend', so help me, I'll hurt you." She leaned forward, barely resisting the urge to grab the front of his sweater and shake him until his teeth rattled. "If that were true, you wouldn't be in the dark about what made him do this. You might even have prevented it. Admit it, Josh, you're in the same boat the rest of us are."

His eyes round with surprise, Josh managed a jerky nod. CJ picked up her hot chocolate and turned to the door.

"CJ, I, uh, I'm sorry."

She looked back over her shoulder at him. "Save it. You might need it for Sam."


	10. Chapter 10

_...Then find Sam and send him to hold Beach's hand! That's why we keep him around, isn't it?_

Toby sat at his desk, staring at the TV in front of him and not even registering the image on the screen. He had had to walk away from Josh and his dismissal of Sam and his place in the White House. The words bothered him because he had done precisely the same thing. During the vetting for the new Supreme Court Justice, he had trusted Sam to handle that last telling interview with Peyton Cabot Harrison III (the name still made him grind his teeth). Sam's diligence had prevented them from making a costly mistake with what might be their only nominee to the high court. When, Toby wondered, had he started treating Sam like an inept summer intern? When had they all?

Slouching down in his chair, he looked at the pen he had picked up and still not used. His grip was so tight that his knuckles had turned white. Last night he had spent hours analyzing the last few months. The State of the Union had been even more exhausting this time than the last. In the end, though, they had written a speech of which they, and the President, were proud. They had weathered the Mendoza confirmation with the occasional flare-up of temper on both sides, but Sam had stood toe to toe with him, refusing to back down.

Toby half-smiled as he remembered the arcane bits of trivia Sam had uncovered in his research on the Supreme Court. He had a habit of spouting it as they sat too exhausted to drive home after an all-night session. _Samuel Chase was the only Supreme Court justice to be impeached. __John Rutledge had the briefest tenure, serving only four months before the Senate rejected his nomination._ Now, Toby realized, it had been weeks since his deputy had leaned against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets, volunteering whatever random fact had caught his attention.

When Sam had joined the campaign, it had taken them time to reach a common ground. Toby's thinking was logical, methodically moving from Point A to Point B using statements and arguments. Sam, on the other hand, was a lateral thinker. He actively searched for different ways of looking at things. Although they had agreed on message and policy, their battles about style and voice had become legendary within days of Sam's arrival.

He regretted the message he had left on Sam's machine -- the harangue, to be honest. He should have waited before calling, should have guarded his temper and his words. He had given in to the anger and yes, the hurt Sam's resignation had triggered. He hoped Sam had deleted the message without listening to it.

"Toby?" Bonnie said, and from the tone of her voice, he was certain this was at least the third time she had repeated it. "Leo wants all of you in his office."

He looked up then. "Something going on?"

"I don't think so. Things are real quiet this morning. Maybe it's about..." She tilted her head towards Sam's office.

Picking up his notepad, he slipped a pen into the spiral binding. "Yeah."

Donna joined Bonnie at the door. "Has anybody seen Josh?"

"He was in the Mess a little while ago," Toby said as he crossed his office.

She looked at Sam's empty chair and pouted. "With Sam? I'm looking for him, too."

"He's been over at the OEOB since he got in this morning," Bonnie told her. "I'll tell him you need him."

"Thanks! I'm going to find Josh." She looked at Toby. "You know about the meeting, right?"

"I'd be there by now if you two would get out of my doorway."

Both assistants stepped quickly out of his way, and Donna hurried in the direction of the Mess. Toby stopped and looked at Bonnie.

"OEOB, huh? Very good."

"I've been practicing all morning. I'm glad I had the chance to use it." As Toby turned toward Leo's office, she stopped him, checking quickly to make sure no one could hear her. "We want him back, Toby."

"Because he's the even-tempered one? The nice one?"

"Because he's Sam."

"'Because he's Sam,'" he repeated quietly. "Right."

When he reached Leo's office, Margaret waved him in. "He's ready for you."

"Josh and CJ are on their way," he told her.

"Yeah, Donna just called."

Toby walked into the office to find the President already occupying a chair. "Good morning, sir, Leo," he said, sitting down on the sofa.

The President shifted so he could see both of them. "Any news, Toby?"

"About Sam, sir? None. As far as I know, he hasn't returned any phone calls."

"Not surprising."

"Let's wait for CJ and Josh before we get started," Leo counseled. "Save us from having to say things twice."

"We're here," CJ said, coming through the door with Josh. "Good morning, Mr. President."

"CJ, Josh."

Josh closed the door and leaned against it for a second before dropping into a chair. "Sir."

"Neither of you has heard from Sam, correct?" Leo asked.

Josh shook his head as CJ murmured, "No."

Leo tilted back in his chair. "The FBI says Sam hasn't replaced his cell phone yet."

The President picked up a paper from the table beside him and glanced at it. "The only things Sam bought yesterday were groceries."

"You had them track his credit cards?" Leo demanded. "We said we weren't going to do that!"

"Well, I changed my mind," the President informed him, and Toby heard CJ choke back a giggle as Leo huffed a sigh.

"Not much help, though," Josh commented. "Not like there's a plane ticket or something on it."

"Where he could go in an ice storm?" Toby demanded. "They're already canceling flights, and nothing landed after midnight. The airports are going to be screwed up for days."

"I would have been on the first plane out to somewhere warm," CJ mused. "Florida, Bermuda, California..." She looked at Toby. "Do you think he'd go home?"

He thought it over. "He might."

The President turned to Leo, his eyes dancing. "And if he does, we'll know that too!"

Leo rolled his eyes. "You have them watching the airports? God in heaven, doesn't the FBI have something else it could be doing, like catching criminals?"

"I could --" Josh began.

"No!" CJ and Toby chorused.

Blinking at their vehemence, he tried again. "B--"

"No!"

Josh slid down in his chair, looking petulant.

"Joshua Lyman speechless. Let me get the video camera," Abbey commented, standing in the connecting doorway to the Oval Office. "No, don't get up. Is it all right if I join you?" she said as she sat beside Toby. "I assume you're talking about Sam. Anything new?"

CJ shook her head. "Nothing more than his grocery bill from yesterday."

"Yes, Sam Spade showed me."

"You mock me, Abigail?"

"Yes, but I do it with love." She looked around. "So what's the plan?"

Josh shook his head. "We don't have one."

"Except the one where you leave Sam alone," CJ reminded him.

"Not much of a plan, if you ask me," Josh muttered.

"Maybe that's the best thing any of you can do," Abbey offered.

Toby could not help the tone of disbelief that crept into his voice. He had been considering stopping to see Sam on his way home. "Not doing _anything_ is the best plan, ma'am?"

"Yes, leave Sam alone -- just for the weekend," she amended when the President started to interrupt.

"I don't understand. Why exactly would we do that?" Josh asked.

"Think of it as a time-out. It lets all of you cool down and gives Sam a chance to breathe."

"Sam hasn't been breathing?" Leo asked. "That would explain a lot."

Toby was immensely grateful he was not on the receiving end of the First Lady's glare. Glancing at the President, he saw both amusement and sympathy in the look he shot Leo.

CJ, though, was nodding slowly as she considered it. "I think you're right."

"For god's sake, would one of you mind explaining it to those of us not blessed with women's intuition?" the President demanded.

"I was thinking about Sam last night, remembering the first time I met him," Abbey began.

"When you thought he was an intern?" Josh asked. It still amused him that Sam, of all people, had been given coffee duty in a 250-year-old house with uneven floors, expensive carpets and irreplaceable antiques.

"When I came home that night, he was outside, taking a walk. Do you remember?"

"Vaguely," Josh admitted slowly, then the light came on in his eyes. "Wait -- yeah, I was going to look for him. Seems like I was always tracking him down during the campaign. He had this habit of wandering off."

"We'd be working on something and decide to take a break," Toby said. "I'd get something to eat or whatever, but Sam went outside."

"He almost froze in Wisconsin, didn't he?" CJ asked.

Josh smiled. "He is the only person I've ever known who went running after the days we put in. Still does when he can, I think."

"Tries to go to the gym a couple of times a week," Toby added.

"With who?" Leo asked.

"Whom," the President muttered.

Toby thought for minute. Sam, gym bag in hand, disappearing out the door. "Alone, I think."

"Yeah, I know he's never asked me," Josh admitted.

The President turned to his wife. "And what does this mean beside the fact Sam..." His voice slowed as the penny dropped. "Likes to be alone."

"_Needs_ to be alone," CJ corrected quietly. "We all complain that we never have time for ourselves, but we don't do anything about it. Sam makes the time because he has to, just to clear his mind."

"But he hasn't lately," Toby added. "We've been going flat out for months now. I can't remember the last time he left the building at lunchtime."

"So you're saying if we give him some time, this whole thing will go away?" Leo asked.

"No," Toby said, "it won't. Nothing is ever that easy with Sam. What it will give us is a starting place."

"Distance," Josh murmured. "That just might work."

"So we're agreed then that there will be a moratorium on contacting Sam?" the President asked, his gaze firmly fixed on Josh. "That all of us will leave him alone until Monday?"

Josh colored slightly as he answered, "Yes, Mr. President."

"Except for the FBI peering over his shoulder," Leo amended.

"A necessary precaution, I'm willing to give him only so much rope," the President said as he rose to his feet. As they all stood, he held his hand out to Abbey, and the two of them walked into the Oval, closing the door behind them.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam looked at the small clock he kept on his desk and blinked. He had sat down what seemed like moments before, thinking he would clean up a few emails. He was normally prompt (Josh called it anal) in responding, but lately he had barely read them, let alone answered any. Now he was almost two-thirds done. Tomorrow he would finish and cross that chore off his list.

Shutting down the computer, he took off his glasses and rubbed the spot between his eyes where a headache had been growing since he had gotten out of bed. Perhaps four hours of computer work had not been one of his better ideas. Of course, there was one thing which just might be contributing to his headache. It was simple enough. A phone call. Pick up the phone and dial. Not much to it, but the idea of it... He frowned and rubbed his eyes.

_Do it,_ he ordered himself, even as he tried to think of something more important that required his immediate attention. He could take a nap, that was certainly high on his list after another restless night.

Grabbing the phone, Sam punched in the familiar number, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. One ring... Two...

"Why the hell doesn't the President send someone who can argue worth a damn to face that jackass Trent? You must have interns who debate better than Elliott!"

"The President's a little too busy running the country to decide who goes on TV, Dad." Sam glanced at his watch and compared it to the clock. "Why are you watching Trent? It's two o'clock there, isn't it?"

"I played golf with Billy Bryant this morning, so I recorded it. I'll guarantee your boss is going to take a lot more interest in who represents the White House after today. That idiot actually said..."

Sam dropped his head into his hand and wondered why he had not thought of taking some Tylenol before dialing the phone. In this mood, his father could easily rant for twenty minutes without drawing breath. _And people wonder where I get it,_ he thought. _It's genetic._

"Well, I doubt you called to have me tell you what you already know. What's going on with you?" Sam heard the snap of the TV turning off followed by the creak of his father's favorite leather chair.

"Is Mom around?"

"She's out with Kathleen. That artist friend of theirs is showing some of her paintings at a gallery. They drove up for the opening."

"Oh."

"Why? Is something wrong?"

He swallowed. "N-no, I just wanted to talk to both of you."

"Sam..."

"Dad, I called to tell you -- I wanted to say that I, uh, I..." He took a deep breath. "I resigned on Friday."

"Oh, son."

"Things have been... bad for a while, and I couldn't figure out how to fix them," Sam continued, his voice thinning as he spoke. "I tried, but..." He shrugged.

His father's voice was warm with concern. "Are you all right, Sam?"

He could barely force his voice past a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"Sam -- "

"I thought I could do this. I thought..."

"You have nothing to apologize for. Do you hear me, son?"

"But I -- "

"_Nothing_ to apologize for. I'm very proud of you, Sam. You've always done what you believe in, and if resigning is what you believe is right, then Mom and I support your decision."

Sam cleared his throat before he could speak. "Thanks."

"You know what Mom will want to know when I tell her, don't you? Are you all right?"

"I'm... okay." He could not bring himself to lie. He could not remember the last time he had been anything more than exhausted and overwhelmed. "Tired mostly."

"Fourteen-hour days will do that to you. How about coming home for a couple of weeks? We saw on the Weather Channel that you've had a pretty nasty storm this weekend. Sunshine and warm weather will be a nice change. We could go out on the boat."

"To tell you the truth, Dad, I haven't thought about it."

"You don't have to answer right now. You decide and let us know. I'll have my secretary book a ticket for you with an open-ended return. You come and go when you want."

Sam knew it would be useless to point out he could afford a ticket. He had been losing this argument for years. "I'll give you a call when I make up my mind, all right?"

"Make sure you do, otherwise I'll have your mom call." There was a pause, and then the subject Sam most dreaded. "Josh must have been surprised."

Sam looked at the answering machine, wondering again why no one had called since Friday. He was grateful for the respite, but the silence made him nervous. He was certain the ice storm had kept Josh, at least, from his door, but now that storm was drifting out over the Atlantic. Tomorrow --

"Sam?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said Josh must have been surprised."

"It's hard to tell with him lately." Silence hung between them, and Sam leaped in, attempting to end this. "Dad, I should -- "

"You didn't talk to Josh about resigning."

"I, ah... No."

Another silence, and then his father spoke. "So he's part of the problem."

Sam studied the print above his desk. "Yeah."

"And there was no one else you could talk to. How long has this been going on?

"A while."

"That can be a couple of weeks or months, Sam. Which is it?"

"Dad, I've -- "

"Sam!"

Sam flinched. He had not heard that particular tone since high school. "A month or so," he confessed quietly.

"Why on earth didn't you say something?"

The lump was back in his throat, choking him. "I thought I could handle it."

"Son, there are people who are on your side, people who believe in you and your abilities. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah -- " Sam cleared his throat again. "-- I do."

His father's voice was quiet and warm. "We love you, Sam."

Sam nodded, but could not form a reply.

"You're going to be all right. I want you to take your time and think through your options. We're here whenever you need us -- to talk, to listen, whatever."

"Th-thanks."

"You'll let me know about coming home, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll let you go, but I expect to hear from you soon."

"Love you, Dad," Sam managed before he hit the button and ended the call.

Dropping the phone into its cradle, he wiped his eyes, and then sat with his head between his hands, trying to calm his breathing. He had braced himself for parental disappointment and a lecture on commitment, on seeing things through. The reality, though, had drained him more than he thought possible. He could not remember the last time someone had supported him without reservation.

Sam stumbled to the bathroom and the waiting bottle of Tylenol. He struggled with the cap before swallowing two tablets and washing them down with water. Swaying with fatigue, he staggered to his bed and crawled under the comforter. As the wind rattled the windows, he fell deeply asleep for the first time in days.


	12. Chapter 12

As he walked through the Policy bullpen after an early meeting on the Hill, Josh reflected that Mondays were, by definition, chaotic, but today was worse than usual. Leo had "strongly encouraged" everyone to stay at home on Sunday, unwilling to have them risk life and limb for a few hours in the office. That had left no time to finish last week's work nor prepare this week's.

Josh had taken home a pile of briefing books and forced himself to review them. If asked (and he sincerely hoped no one would), he would be unable to reference anything he had read. He had spent most of his time trying to find a way to resolve the situation with Sam. He was a strategist after all, and a damn good one according to some. Corralling one wayward speechwriter should be easy, not a challenge in the least. Unfortunately, Sam was the wayward speechwriter, and things were never easy when Sam got his back up.

After the meeting with the President on Saturday morning, Josh had wandered the halls of the West Wing, eventually ending up in Sam's office. Leaning against the desk, he had put the Newton's Cradle into motion as he always did when he visited Sam. As it clicked back and forth, Josh tried to remember the last time he had dropped in on Sam or Sam had stopped to see him. How long had it been since they had watched a game together or debated some inane issue? Dropping into a chair, he looked up at the First Navy Jack with its "Don't Tread on Me". The President had given it to Sam soon after naming him Deputy Communications Director. Josh had never been sure if the slogan was a reminder to Sam or a warning to others.

"Do you need anything?" Cathy asked from the doorway.

He shook his head, still studying the flag. "No, I'm good."

"Josh..."

He turned to face her then, saw the distress in her dark eyes. "We're going to get him back, I promise."

"I don't want to work for anyone else," she confessed.

"Don't worry."

But he had spent rest of the weekend doing just that. He had picked up the phone to call Sam more than once but hung up each time, his promise to the President the only thing keeping him from dialing that last number. Instead he had spent hours thinking, pacing, staring out at the storm. On Friday, he had been so sure there was a simple solution, something guaranteed to bring Sam to his senses. By Sunday, he had thought of and discarded a dozen different plans. Frustrated by his lack of success, he had called Toby a couple ... well, to be honest, several times before Toby had summarily hung up on him.

"Josh, meeting in ten minutes," Donna yelled from her desk as he passed.

"Right," he replied, dropping his knapsack on his desk. Pulling off his gloves, he stuffed them in the pockets of his coat before hanging it up. He grabbed his mug and hurried to get himself some coffee.

"Are you ready?" Donna materialized beside him armed with a steno pad, two pens and her own mug.

"Where's my stuff?" he complained.

"For god's sake, Josh, it's on your desk! Why couldn't you pick it up while you were in there? We're going to be late if you don't move right now."

Relieved he had left his pad and agenda in the center of his desk, Josh grabbed them and followed Donna to the Roosevelt Room. Once a week, Leo presided over a meeting of the entire staff. A few assistants remained at their desks to answer phones and field messages, but attendance was mandatory for everyone else.

Josh arrived to find the room was already full, people drinking coffee and finding seats. He sat down across from Toby who was discussing something with Ed and Larry, making sharp emphatic points which they dutifully jotted down. CJ nodded to him as she dropped into the seat to his right, but turned away to referee a discussion between two of her deputies. Grabbing a muffin from the tray nearest him, Josh leaned back and concentrated on not getting crumbs all over himself as he ate it.

"All right, people," Leo said as he came through the door with Margaret. "Let's get this over with."

Immediately the room went silent. Leo looked at the people around the table and lined up against the walls. "Is everybody here? Where's Sam?"

Surprised by the question, Josh inhaled a crumb and began coughing. CJ hit him between the shoulder blades as he gulped down some coffee. Tears running from his eyes, he gasped out, "Sorry, swallowed wrong."

Leo waited until the coughing subsided before turning back to Toby. "Sam?"

"Working at home on a couple of policy things." Toby looked around the room. "He's doing important work here, people. No one -- and I mean no one -- will call, email or contact him in any way upon pain of death. If you have questions, come to me. If anything happens, come to me. Understood?" When a few people mumbled nervous agreement, he glared at the room in general and barked, "Is that understood?"

The response was loud and emphatic. Toby caught Josh's eye across the table and slowly winked. With luck, their secret was safe for a few more days.

"Moving on..." Leo continued.

An hour later, they finished. Every department had reviewed its accomplishments and upcoming projects. Questions had been asked and answered, initiatives discussed, inter-departmental cooperation assured. Josh reread the notes he had taken, trying to formulate a logical workflow for his staff.

"How was your Sunday?" CJ asked as they waited for the room to clear.

"I read 400 pages of briefing memos."

"And I'll always be grateful you managed to take time out of your busy schedule to annoy me," Toby muttered as he passed them with Ed and Larry in tow.

Josh ignored him. "So, what did you do?"

She glanced away, looking slightly embarrassed. "I cooked."

He could not stop a smirk as he followed her back to her office. "You what?"

"I cooked. I'm descended from hardy pioneer stock, and when we're faced with brutal winter weather, we cook."

"CJ, it was a storm, not the dawn of the next ice age."

"There were power outages all over Washington. I wanted to be prepared."

"Exactly how were you going to keep the food hot if you didn't have power?"

"I have a camp stove."

"Do you have the faintest idea how to light it?"

"Listen, bucko -- "

"Shouldn't that be 'buckeye' you being from Ohio and all?"

She turned on him then, and he stopped in his tracks. CJ in a snit was never a good thing. Being the cause of it was even worse. Josh glanced around for help, but the crowd of staffers who had surrounded them an instant before had evaporated at the first sign of trouble. _Cowards._

A long, manicured finger poked him in the chest. "Listen, _bucko_, my father took us camping a couple of times a year until I was eighteen. Unlike you, I know my way around the great outdoors. Now, if you want to live long enough to eat lunch, get away from me."

"C'mon, CJ! You have no sense of humor!"

One eyebrow rose dangerously. "Get thee gone, Joshua!"

"What I meant was -- "

"Hey, CJ," Danny broke in. "Josh."

Josh gave silent thanks for the White House Press Corps. "Hey."

Danny turned to CJ, neatly excluding Josh from the conversation. "I was wondering if you were available for dinner tonight."

She frowned slightly. "Monday night? What's up?"

Danny shrugged. "Is there anything wrong with going out for dinner on Monday?"

Tilting her head slightly, CJ studied him. "No, you just surprised me."

"Well, I'm a surprising kind of guy. Dinner with a friend, what do you say?"

"All right," she agreed slowly. "I'll be done by 9:00."

Danny grinned. "That works. How about 9:30 at the French place around the corner from you?"

"Okay, I'll meet you there."

"Great!" He turned to Josh who was openly listening. "See you around."

"See you." Before Danny was four feet away, Josh's smirk had returned. "CJ's got a date, CJ's got a date."

"It's not a date," she corrected him. "You heard him. It's dinner with a friend."

"CJ's got a date, CJ's got a -- Ow!" Josh rubbed his arm. "Hey, Mom said you couldn't hit me!"

CJ grinned in a way which terrified him. "No, she said I _shouldn't_, not I _couldn't,_" and humming quietly, she disappeared into her office and closed the door.


	13. Chapter 13

At half past nine, CJ pulled open the door to the little bistro and looked around for Danny. She had hoped to stop and repair her make-up, but she had had barely enough time to drive home, park, and sprint the block and a half to the restaurant.

The maitre d' smiled. "_Bonsoir, Madame._ May I take your coat?"

"Yes, thank you." CJ shrugged out of it. "I'm meeting a friend for dinner."

"That would be _Monsieur_ Concannon, _oui_? He is awaiting your arrival. If you will follow me?"

He led her to a table near the rear of the restaurant, a few people recognizing her. She nodded slightly in acknowledgment, still uncomfortable that she did not know them, the result of combining a well-known face with a small-town upbringing. The room was not full, but it was busier than she had anticipated for a Monday. Danny stood up as they approached, a warm smile on his face.

"You made it!"

"Were you afraid I wouldn't?" she asked as he held her chair for her.

"You never know."

"Would you care for something from the bar?" the maitre d' asked.

CJ did not have to think. "A glass of your house red would be wonderful."

"_Trẻs bien_. I will have your waiter bring it_ immédiatement_."

The wine, when it arrived moments later, was perfect. CJ took a mouthful, savoring it as the waiter recited the evening's specials and encouraged them to take their time before hurrying off to tend to other diners.

"What are you going to have?" she asked, her attention on the menu.

"I'm... not."

"Not what?" She glanced at him over her glasses. The menu lay closed on the table in front of him. "Eating? You're not eating?"

Danny fidgeted with the silverware. "Yeah, you could say that."

CJ put down her menu. "You asked me to dinner."

"Yes, I did."

"Dinner with a friend, if memory serves," she stated evenly.

"Absolutely."

She took a swallow of wine and contemplated her glass for a moment, wishing she had ordered something stronger. "Then why --"

"Because," a familiar voice said behind her, "_I'm_ the friend."

CJ stood up so quickly she almost lost her balance. "Sam!"

Resting her hands on his shoulders, she scrutinized him. The weariness had not left him completely, but his color was better than it had been on Thursday. Better yet, there was laughter in his eyes, boyish delight in having tricked her. All weekend she had thought only of the emptiness she had last seen there. She kissed his cheek and pulled him into a hard hug. He smelled of wool, wonderful cologne and fresh, cold air.

"I'll kill you both for this!" she said.

Sam grinned unrepentantly. "I'm sorry. This was the only way I could think of to get you here."

"There's such a thing as a telephone!" she scolded him. "And you -- " She turned to Danny. "— could at least have given me a hint."

Danny grinned. "With Josh standing right there? I don't think so." He stood up and waved Sam into his chair. "You owe me a real evening out for doing this."

"I'll see."

"C'mon, you agreed. You owe me the dinner you thought we were going to have, CJ."

"You know, with reasoning like that, I find it amazing you don't write op-ed pieces," Sam offered.

CJ looked from one to the other, unable to stop smiling. "I can't believe you did this. All right, I'll go out to dinner with you."

"When?"

"Soon. Now, go away."

"We'll talk tomorrow," Danny told her. "See you, Sam."

"Thanks," Sam called as he flipped open the menu.

"Danny, wait!"

He turned to her, a question already forming. CJ closed the two steps between them and kissed him.

"Thank you."

His smile was gentle. "I told you I was a surprising guy."

"You are indeed." She considered kissing him again, but he was already moving away. She dropped into her chair and smiled at Sam. "Well, this is amazing."

He returned the smile. "I thought it was smarter to use a go-between. If you didn't know whom you were meeting, you wouldn't have had to make up something. Have you decided what you want? I'm hungry."

She nodded, and he called the waiter over. Within minutes, they had ordered their meals, and Sam had a glass of wine. As he took a mouthful, she pounced.

"All right, Sam, what the hell is going on?"

For a minute, she was not sure which way the wine was going and, as far as she could see, neither did Sam. He finally managed to swallow and kept the coughing to a minimum.

"Okay, so we're going to do this now," he said slowly, setting down his glass. "Go ahead and scold me, CJ, then we'll enjoy dinner."

"I'm not going to scold you. No, wait -- I am! I've spent the last four days worrying about you. All of us have."

"I'm sorry you worried; you shouldn't have. I'm fine."

"I have been in and out of meetings since Friday morning, Sam -- meetings with the President of the United States -- and most of them were about _you_. I've sat through all of them, listened to what everybody said, and there's still one thing I don't understand. Why didn't you talk to someone? Damn it, why didn't you talk to _me_?"

The light left his eyes. Folding his napkin, he set it aside and looked for their waiter. "I'm sorry. Having dinner was a bad idea. I never wanted to put you in the middle of this."

"You didn't put me here, I did!" CJ covered his hand with hers. "Just talk to me. Anything you say will stay between us."

Sam studied her, actively searching for something. Finally, he drew a breath and turned his hand over, taking hold of hers. "When I joined the campaign, I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me. I hadn't worked in politics since law school, and then it was as an aide for a two-term Congressman who was an election away from retirement. The President, Leo, everybody saw me as Josh's little brother, some guy riding his coattails -- and they weren't far from the truth. So, when Josh and Toby began crafting our strategy, I sat and I listened and I learned everything I could. After Toby began trusting me a little, they let me create some of the message."

"We wouldn't have been elected without your words, Sam. You know that."

"I'm not sure what I know any more," he said quietly, letting go of her hand. "Anyway, things didn't change much once we got to the White House. I read everything I could get my hands on -- things that didn't even concern me half the time -- hoping I could contribute something. And for a little while, I thought that I had finally caught up, that I might even be making headway, but..." Picking up his water glass, he swallowed half the contents.

"But," CJ prodded gently.

He looked down at the tablecloth and smoothed out a wrinkle. "I wasn't."

"That's not true! Your input is valuable."

"CJ, I can't remember the last time I was in a meeting and Josh didn't say, 'What Sam means to say is...'"

"That's Josh, Sam! You know how he is!"

"I thought I did, but that was before he started shooting down everything I said."

"Did you try talking to Toby?"

"Are you kidding? Last week he told me he could name three writers who are as good or better than I am -- and two of them already work at the White House!"

"And both of them are him! You know he says those things to get you all hepped up!"

"Well, that didn't work the way he planned then, did it?" Sam snapped, his voice hard and angry. "That speech I was working on Thursday? It could have been so much more, it really could have. We had the opportunity to send up a couple of trial balloons, get a read on public opinion. Instead, he turned it into a punishment exercise because I wouldn't toe the line." He laughed, and CJ winced at the bitterness in the sound. "Hell, I don't even know where the line _is_ anymore."

The waiter appeared with CJ's salad and Sam's soup. The look on his face told CJ that he thought he was interrupting a lovers' quarrel. She tried smiling at him as he put down the plate in front of her, but it only made him more nervous.

He held up the pepper mill, not making eye contract with Sam or her. "Cr-cracked pepper, _Madame_? _Monsieur_?"

She smiled harder, radiating good will. "No, thank you. Sam?"

He shook his head. "No, but I think the lady could use another glass of wine."

"_Oui, Monsieur,_" and he scurried off to the service bar.

"He thinks we're arguing," CJ said, picking up her fork.

Sam stopped with a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth. "We aren't, are we?"

"No, we're not. You're venting, and I'm wondering why we didn't have this conversation weeks ago."

"You've had a rough couple of months, CJ. I didn't want you dealing with my crap, too."

"But I want -- "

Sam lowered his spoon into the bowl. "Don't get involved. Find a nice table somewhere, and hide underneath it until this blows over."

"It's not going to blow over."

"I've resigned. Give them a few days, they'll find someone new."

"Damn it, Sam, they won't!" She sighed as the people around them looked over, and their waiter dove back into the kitchen. She picked up her wine glass and smiled at everyone over the rim. When they returned to their own conversations, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. "With all the meetings we've had about this, there's one thing that no one will consider. Replacing you."

"Well, they just might have to when I don't show up for the next two-and-a-half years."

CJ picked at her salad. "Trust me, the FBI will show up at your door long before then."

"The FBI?"

"The President called them in," she admitted.

"Because that's what you do when someone resigns." He shook his head. "That's..."

"Over the top? Out of control? Yeah, the First Lady thought so, too."

Sam pushed away the soup and dropped his head into his hands. "I'm trapped in a Marx Brothers movie."

"No, you're trapped with people who respect your work and your contribution to this Administration. And you know what's even worse?"

He considered the question, and then shook his head.

"They love you."


	14. Chapter 14

Abrupt summons to the Oval Office were not uncommon for the Senior Staff. Some were unwanted interruptions in already busy days, but others — this one, for instance — were more than welcome. Toby barely glanced at the note Ginger handed him before he was on his feet, closing folders and picking up a still hot cup of coffee.

"I'm sorry; the President needs me. Thank you for bringing this problem to our attention." He paused long enough to shake hands with the drab little man who, as spokesman for a small group of equally drab people, had been talking nonstop for fifteen minutes about an environmental issue affecting single-cell life forms in a small Virginia tidewater. "Ginger will see you out."

The man blinked myopically at him. "We could come back —"

"Of course, you could," Toby muttered.

"— And meet with Mr. Seaborn when he's available. He was our initial contact here at the White House and was very sympathetic to our situation."

"I'll check his schedule and get back to you," Ginger interjected, already herding them to the door.

_Sam, where do you get the patience?_ Toby wondered as he hurried toward the Oval.

"Good morning, Toby," Mrs. Landingham said as he came into the President's outer office. "He's waiting for you."

"Thank you."

"Morning, Mrs. Landingham," CJ said behind him.

"Hello, CJ. Go right in."

Toby slowed a step and glanced at her. "Know what this is about?" he asked.

"Not a clue. You?"

"No, but it saved me from a lecture on protozoa."

"There's much we can learn from the tiniest creatures," the President reminded Toby from behind his desk.

"See what I mean?" Toby muttered to CJ before nodding to the President. "Yes, sir."

Leo came through the connecting door to his office. "Josh is meeting with the Minority Whip and then Roy Beach. I told him not to come back until he's got the Congressman back in the fold."

"You sent _Josh_ to make nice?" Toby asked, taking a sip of coffee.

Leo frowned. "It's time he cleaned up after himself."

The President stood, picking up a note with a flourish. "The reason I sent for all of you is that, on Saturday — as you no doubt remember — my decision to call in the FBI about Sam was pooh-poohed by certain individuals." He shot Leo a glare. "This morning, however, my vigilance was rewarded. An airline ticket was purchased yesterday for one Samuel Seaborn. Purchased, I might add, by the firm of Callahan, Seaborn & Brown."

"Sam's dad?" Leo asked.

"He's going home." Toby sighed. "When?"

The President checked the note. "He's leaving —"

"Friday," CJ finished. When they all turned to stare at her, she explained, "I, ah, talked to him last night. "

"You've withheld important information from our investigation, Claudia Jean," the President chided her.

Leo rolled his eyes. "Could we possibly act like we're not the FBI and this isn't a manhunt?"

Toby turned to her. "Did Sam ask you not to mention it?"

"No. In fact, he said if it was easier for me, I should tell you."

"So..." Leo started.

"I wasn't sure it was the right thing to do."

"What can you — _will_ you tell us, CJ?" the President asked.

She stared down at her hands as Toby silently willed her to talk. As the tall case clock struck the quarter hour, she looked up and spoke directly to the President.

"Sir, I read the letter he left for Leo, but I think Sam, being Sam, pulled his punches. He's angry, he's disillusioned, and..." She swallowed. "He's lost. He's going home to sort things out, to get away from Washington and clear his head."

The President looked at Leo and Toby. "Do we want him clearing his head all the way across the country?"

"To be blunt, sir, that's not our decision," Toby told him.

Leo leaned forward in his chair. "Sam will go, one way or the other. If we make things more difficult for him, he may not come back."

Toby studied the seal in the carpet. "I want to talk to him before he leaves."

"I'll go with you," the President decided. "He won't close his door to me."

"Or the five fully-armed Secret Service agents escorting you," Toby mumbled, seeing his chance to sit down with his deputy turning into a circus.

"Having the President of the United States drop by might be a little too much for him right now," Leo tried. "And his neighbors won't appreciate Ron Butterfield shutting down their street."

"I won't be there as the President, Leo! I'll be there as —"

"The leader of the free world?" Toby suggested.

The President gave him a hard look. "A friend, Toby, a concerned friend."

"With all due respect, sir," CJ interjected, "Having his boss stop by is one thing, having his boss's boss's boss arrive is another.

"So all of you think I should let him go without a word?" the President asked. "And let me remind you, if I hadn't called in the FBI, we wouldn't know what he was up to."

"CJ would have," Leo maintained.

"But she wasn't particularly forthcoming, was she?"

Announcing himself with a light tap on the door, Charlie poked his head in. "Mr. President, they're waiting for you in the East Room."

"Charlie, tell me something. What would you do if I showed up at your front door?"

"Well, I'd hope Ron had doubled the size of your protection detail."

"No, I mean what message would it send?"

"To be honest, sir, I'd be pretty overwhelmed."

The President frowned. "Thank you, Charlie. I'll be with you directly."

"Yes, Mr. President," and he left, closing the door behind him.

"All right, I won't go with Toby. But I'm still the President —"

"I'm going to hate this," Leo whispered to himself.

"— so I'll bring Mohammed to the mountain."

"Sam here?" CJ asked faintly.

"Nothing formal," the President assured her. "Just two friends talking."

Three voices said, "But, sir" in unison.

The President glowered at them. "Yes?" When no one spoke, he nodded. "Have you all forgotten we brokered a successful cease-fire between India and Pakistan?"

"Tell me you're not calling in that lunatic Brit for this," Leo moaned.

"Leo, I am not without my own diplomatic expertise. I don't need assistance from the Court of St. James to handle Sam." He stood and walked to the door as they all rose to their feet. "I'll have Mrs. Landingham check my calendar."

As soon as he was in the outer office, CJ turned to Leo. "You have to stop him. This will not help."

"I'll give him a little time, then broach the subject again. With any luck, we'll have a crisis to distract him for a few days."

Toby rubbed the spot where a headache had formed. "We've definitely got a skewed view of world events."

"Tell me about it," Leo returned as he started for his office.


	15. Chapter 15

Josh swaggered a little as he crossed the lobby and signed in. The meeting with Beach had gone well — better than well, almost great if he allowed himself a bit of conceit. He heard a snort of laughter from his conscience, which lately had started sounding like Sam. It was so vivid that he glanced around, half expecting to see Sam leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed and a grin on his face.

Instead, he came face to face with Margaret who was clearly waiting for him.

"Leo's office now," she announced, already walking away.

Josh felt his stomach drop as he hurried to catch up with her. "What's going on?"

She shot him a look and then lowered her voice. "We can't discuss it out here."

"'We'?" he echoed. "'We' as in 'us' —" He gestured between them. "— As in 'you and I'?"

She nodded sharply and then looked hard at the people they were passing. No one seemed interested in them or their conversation, but Margaret was clearly not taking any chances.

"What's going on?" Josh asked, already analyzing possibilities.

"Leo wants to talk to you."

"About what? If this was something bad, you would've called and told me to come back. You didn't, though. You waited for me in the lobby because —"

"Leo wants to talk to you."

"But somehow it involves you because you said —"

She glared at him and hissed, "Not here, Josh."

When they reached Leo's office, she poked her head in the door and then turned to Josh. "He's waiting."

"How did it go with Beach?" Leo asked, gesturing him to one of the chairs in front of his desk as Margaret sat down in the other.

"Everything's fine. I apologized, he lectured me. I apologized again, he accepted. I said we need to work together, he agreed. He said he'll vote against the finance thing, I got the hell out of there."

"So he's voting _with_ us?"

Josh felt the rush of triumph return. "Completely reversed his position."

Leo weighed that for a moment. "He wants something."

"Yeah, I thought so too, but I couldn't come up with anything."

"Well, keep an eye on it, and let me know what he comes up with."

He nodded. "Margaret said you needed to see me — us?"

"Yeah," Leo closed the folder he had been reviewing and turned to Margaret. "Tell him."

"Someone is attempting to breach security," she announced.

Josh gripped the arms of his chair, ready to spring to his feet. They were prepared for hundreds of different scenarios from someone jumping the fence to computer hacking to bio-terrorism. Oddly enough, he never pictured Margaret as the point person for any of them. "What does Ron say?"

She gave him a meaningful look. "Ron doesn't know."

"For god's sake, Margaret!" Leo snapped. "Stop the dramatics, and tell him what's going on."

She frowned, more than a little disappointed to have her wings clipped. "Donna has been asking a lot of questions; Carol, too."

"About what? Sam?"

"They think there's something going on, but they haven't found out what. So far they've talked to me, the Communications assistants, CJ and Charlie."

"Josh, I want you to shut this down," Leo told him. "The last thing we need is the gossip mill getting hold of the Sam thing."

"There's already been some grumbling," Margaret reported, "because they have to deal with Toby."

"For the time being, they're just gonna have to live with it."

"I'll take care of it," Josh promised, starting to stand up. "Just let me get back to my desk and —"

"There's something else we have to talk about," Leo told him. He waited until Margaret left before saying, "We found out this morning that Sam's going home."

"When?"

"Friday."

Josh ran his hand through his hair. "This is from the Bureau?"

"Yeah, they notified the President this morning," Leo said, leaning back in his chair. "He's pretty damned pleased with himself."

"I can imagine."

"It was all we could do to talk him out of dropping in on Sam. Now he's decided to have him come here."

"That is _so_ not a good idea," Josh protested.

Leo scowled. "Thanks for pointing that out. It didn't occur to Toby, CJ or me!"

"Honestly, Leo —"

"We _know_, Josh! I'm going to try to talk him out of it."

"Good luck," Josh muttered, his mind already worrying another point. "There's one more thing, Leo. Come Monday, people just might notice Sam hasn't come back. How the hell are we going to spin _that_?"

"Yeah, I was thinking about the same thing. Let's sit down with Toby and CJ first thing tomorrow morning and come up with some options. In the meantime, rein in Donna, will you?"

"I'll get right on it," Josh said as he headed toward his own office.

Donna was not at her desk when he walked by, but a tray with his lunch sat in the center of his desk. Josh studied it as he hung up his coat. _A bribe — this is more serious than I thought._ Dropping into his chair, he twisted open the bottle of water and took a gulp.

Donna poked her head in as he swallowed the first bite of chicken salad. "Hey, Josh."

"What is this going to cost me?" he inquired, pointing his fork at the tray.

"Nothing!" she answered a little too brightly. If he had not already known something was going on, it would have been a tip-off.

"No really, Donna. What do you need?"

"Can't I do something nice for my boss?"

"You can," he agreed, "but you usually don't."

She pouted. "God, Josh! I was actually worried that you'd missed lunch again, and right away you suspect I'm up to something."

He took another swallow of water and pointed with the bottle. "Close the door, Nancy Drew."

"Josh, I don't know what you've —"

"Close it," he repeated.

When it was shut, she stood against it, keeping the maximum distance possible between them. Josh took another bite of salad and gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.

"Sit. We need to talk."

Reluctance evident in every move, she walked to the chair and sat down. Bowing her head, she stared at her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and pushed the tray away so he could rest his forearms on the desk. "Donna, one of the things that makes you such a great assistant is that you understand how things work around here. When I have questions, you search out the answers for me. You've saved me hours of work because you've talked to the right people. I don't say it enough, but I really appreciate that.

"There are times, though, when I can't discuss what's happening. It's not often, but I have to know you understand that it isn't a game. If I can't tell you, then neither can CJ or Margaret or anybody else. Your job is to ignore it, and remember I'm counting on you to keep the rest of the balls in the air."

"But if I can help —"

He smiled. "If you can, I'll let you know."

Donna nodded, blushing slightly. "I'm sorry, Josh, I really am."

"I know you are." He picked up his fork. "Now give me ten minutes to eat my lunch in peace."

"You owe me $8.50 for that!" she called over her shoulder as she headed out the door.

Josh looked down at his food. "Wait, this isn't a bribe?"

"It was, now it's just lunch — one I didn't have to get for you."

"Hey, I just told you how much I appreciate everything you do for me! Where's the gratitude for my gratitude?"

She reappeared with an armload of files and deposited them on the corner of his desk. "I'll be grateful when your gratitude includes a raise."

"We're back to that again?"

"You thought we'd moved on?"

Josh sighed. He should have known better. "Well, yeah."

"We haven't, but look on the bright side."

"There's a bright side?"

"If we do, I'll let you know."


	16. Chapter 16

One of the many benefits of coming home before midnight, Sam reflected, was finding a parking space near his apartment. More than once he had taken a cab from the White House because he could not face the four- or five-block trek in the middle of the night. Grabbing his gym bag from the seat beside him, he wondered which of his neighbors he was inconveniencing with his new schedule.

He waited for a car to pass before crossing the street to his building. The ice had melted during the day, but froze again as the sun set.

"Hello, Sam!"

He looked up and smiled at the one of the elderly sisters who shared the apartment beneath his on the first floor. "How are you, Professor?"

"Very well, dear. I'm keeping an eye out for our cab."

Sam glanced over his shoulder at the street. "When did you call?"

"Oh, we have an arrangement with the company. On the second Tuesday of every month, we have tickets to a little repertory theatre. The cab comes at 7:30 to take us."

"What are you seeing tonight?"

"I'm not quite sure." She dug in her purse and held out a ticket. "I've never heard of the play or the playwright."

Sam read it and shook his head. "Must be new."

"Alison is leery of going because —"

"Anybody who has that many consonants in his name doesn't write comedies," her sister finished as she joined them on the step. "Still it's an evening out, even if it's full of angst and despair."

"And with luck, pathos," Sam told her.

She patted his arm. "Only if we make it to the second act."

"And if we don't, the café next door serves the most marvelous desserts," Claire said. "Ah, there's the cab!"

Sam opened the door to the foyer and dropped his bag inside. "Let me walk you to the street. The sidewalk is slick."

Alison took his arm, scolding Claire when she did not. "For heaven's sake, when's the last time a handsome man offered to escort you anywhere?"

Claire shook her head but complied. "You're a flirt, always have been."

Sam took them to the cab and made sure they were safely on their way before going inside. Picking up his gym bag, he ran up the stairs to the second floor. As he reached the top, he pulled the keys from his coat pocket. By the time he reached his door, he had the key ready to insert into the lock.

Turning on the wall lamp in the small foyer, he hurried to the thermostat and nudged it up a couple of degrees. He put his gym clothes and a wet towel into the hamper before dropping the bag on the floor of his closet. He had used the bag more in the past five days than the previous four months. He felt better, the tension in his back and shoulders finally loosening up. He had slept solidly the night before, relaxed after two glasses of wine and dinner with CJ.

Sam smiled. He was looking forward to dinner tonight. Despite his assurances that he had plenty of food and the time to prepare it, CJ had insisted he take home her barely touched _coq au vin_, and cajoled (some might say intimidated) the waiter into including the contents of the breadbasket. He headed to the kitchen, relatively certain there was half a bottle of red wine left from Christmas.

As he rummaged through the cabinets, he almost missed hearing a knock on the door. He abandoned the search, still racking his mind as he went to answer it.

"Sam."

Sam dropped his head against the edge of the door and sighed. _I really should have seen this coming._ "What do you want, Toby?"

"I'd like to talk with you. There are things we should discuss."

"I've resigned. I left you detailed notes on the projects I didn't finish. What more is there?"

Tilting his head, Toby studied him. "Spare me a couple of minutes, and then I'll be on my way."

"I —"

"Please, Sam." The words were quiet and sincere.

Damning himself for a fool, Sam gestured him into the living room, smelling the faint odor of cigar smoke that always clung to Toby. Moving past him, Sam dropped onto the couch. It took all his willpower not to offer him a drink. _He's not going to be here that long._

Toby draped his coat over the back of a chair before sitting down opposite him. For a long moment, he studied his hands. "I want to apologize for the message I left on Friday," he finally said. "I was… angry."

"So I gathered."

Dark, intelligent eyes flicked up to focus on him. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

"Is there any reason I should?"

Toby huffed a small laugh. "No, there's not."

"Please say whatever it is you're here to say and go."

"I want you to come back."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, not caring how defensive he looked. "I didn't resign on the spur of the moment. It was one of the most difficult decisions I've ever made. Why on earth would I even think about going back?" He stood up and paced the length of the room. Returning to stand behind the couch, he glared at Toby. "I don't understand why you're here."

"Sam, you just up and quit without a word. We worked together for how long, and you really thought I would let you just leave?"

"To be honest? Yes. You haven't agreed with anything I've said or written in weeks."

"I was playing devil's advocate!" Toby protested. "I've done it a million times!"

"Telling me point blank that I'm wrong is not playing devil's advocate! Neither is saying that my writing is akin to locking three monkeys in a room with a typewriter!"

Toby blinked at the vehemence in Sam's voice. "I respect your opinions and your work, Sam. I may not say it often, but I do."

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't believe you."

"There's no reason that you should," Toby agreed, his voice no louder than a whisper. "And I apologize for that."

Sam felt the living room — hell, the entire apartment — tilt as the argument he had braced himself for evaporated. He gripped the back of the couch and fought for balance. "W-what?"

Toby studied the ceiling before focusing on Sam. "When I read your letter, I was furious. I couldn't believe you'd walked away from your job, from the President, from me. I kept turning it over in my mind and finally realized that _I_ was the one pushing you out the door. Every time I belittled your ideas and disparaged your work, I made it a little easier for you to leave. And the worst part is that I don't know why I did it."

Moving to the window, Sam pushed the drape to one side and gazed down at the darkened street. The headache he thought was gone had returned tenfold.

"Sam, we need you. You're a gifted writer with more natural talent than anyone I've ever known. It's my job to decide what our message is, but I depend on you to craft it."

Sam turned to face him then. "Find someone else to depend on."

Toby shook his head, his eyes sympathetic. "No, the White House is where you, more than any of us, belong."

"You know, two months ago I would've bought that, been flattered that you thought so. But not now."

"Two months ago, I wouldn't have had to say it because it was something we both understood." With a sigh, Toby rose to his feet and reached for his coat. "I talked to, uh, CJ today. She said you're going home."

Sam nodded and waited.

"Take all the time you need to clear your head and sort things out. When you're ready, come back and we'll talk again."

"You won't change my mind."

Toby shook his head. "I don't want to change your mind. I want you to do that yourself."


	17. Chapter 17

"You went to see Sam last night!" Josh repeated for what CJ thought might be the fifth time, but as each time grew progressively louder, she had lost count. Thankfully, Margaret had closed the door to outer office when he crossed the decibel level from loud to yelling. "You went to see Sam, and you didn't tell me!"

"I just did," Toby pointed out.

Josh put his hands on his hips, and CJ was forcefully reminded of Sam doing that on so many occasions. Even the frenetic pacing across Leo's office was same.

"I meant _beforehand_! I've been trying to see him since Friday, and you knew it. I was ordered to give him the weekend, which I did against my better judgment, and when I stopped by his apartment on Monday night, he was off having dinner with CJ."

She winced at the accusatory glare he shot her. "Can I say in my own defense that —"

He ignored her, and to tell the truth, CJ was relieved. "Why the hell didn't you tell me, Toby? I would have ditched that meeting with the D triple C!"

"I wanted to talk to Sam on my own."

"And how did that work? Is everything all straightened out now?"

CJ winced at the sarcasm dripping from the words.

"I don't know, Josh. Have you run into Sam this morning? Had coffee in the Mess with him?" Toby fired back, his voice starting to rise. "No, we didn't straighten things out, but we talked, and I'll take that as a start!"

Josh threw his hands in the air. "I could have helped!"

Toby shook his head. "Not this time. This is between Sam and me."

"But —"

"Josh, that's enough," Leo said as he came through the door.

"Leo, I should be the go-between with Sam," Josh tried, sinking onto the arm of the couch. "Why am I the only one who understands that?"

"Let's just get started," Leo replied, dropping some files on his desk. "I don't suppose you've spent any time discussing what we're going to say on Monday, have you?"

"Is it possible to add something to the vacation calendar?" CJ asked.

"Margaret handles it on our end, so it should be easy enough."

"Then we stay as close to the truth as possible: Sam's gone home for a visit. Leave his return open-ended."

"The Personnel Office will know it's last minute." Josh stopped and thought. "But I can't think of anybody who ever talks to them."

Toby frowned. "It leaves me dealing with a pissed-off Ginger. She told me this morning that she's a better actress than Bonnie, and she wants the chance to —"

"Lie to people?" Leo finished. "You know, we really need to have some kind of intervention when this is over. Bonnie and Ginger are vying for an Oscar, Donna and Carol have turned into Holmes and Watson, and Margaret's ready to take the White House to DEFCON 3."

"Things will go back to normal when Sam comes back," CJ assured him.

"You hope," Leo snorted. He looked at Josh and Toby. "Unless you've got something better, I think we should go with CJ's suggestion."

"It's about the only thing that makes sense," Josh agreed. "Which is saying a lot."

"We'll need a written request," Leo reminded Toby. "Signed by you and on my desk within the hour."

"Cathy will take care of it. She handles all that stuff for Sam."

"Leo, have you had a chance to talk to the President?" Josh asked.

"About bringing Sam in?"

"What about Sam?" the President inquired from the doorway. All of them stood up and waited until he sat down before reseating themselves.

Toby shifted in his chair. "I stopped by his apartment last night and spoke to him, sir."

"Did you make any headway?"

Toby rubbed his forehead. "We had an... exchange of words, nothing more."

The President nodded. "I suppose that's what we should have expected."

Leo leaned against his desk. "Sir, I really think you should reconsider the idea of asking Sam to come in. Toby says he's still pretty angry. I don't think —"

"That meeting with the leader of the free world will be beneficial?" the President finished with a hard look for Toby. "Until last Friday, I always thought I had a good relationship with Sam. I'll capitalize on that. CJ did, and it worked, didn't it?"

"Sir, with all due respect, it was Sam's idea we have dinner," CJ reminded him. "I didn't plan anything."

The President turned to her. "So he considers you a friend?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how does he view the rest of us?" When she hesitated, he nodded. "I see."

CJ turned to Leo for help.

"Sir, we're simply suggesting that —"

"I get it, Leo. Sam sees me as the enemy."

"Not just you, sir," Josh told him. "Pretty much all of us, I think."

"But you're still trying to talk to him, aren't you?"

Josh sighed, seeing the trap and knowing he could do nothing to avoid it. "Yes, sir."

The President looked around the room. "So it's fine for Josh to persist, but I should stay out of it."

"I, for one, am not wholly in favor of Josh persisting," Toby muttered.

"Over these past months, I've treated Sam's talent and his passion without regard, as though they were mine by right. But Sam, ever constant and true —" He smiled sadly. "— Never stopped offering me those gifts. I couldn't spare a minute to speak with him, but I didn't hesitate to avail myself of his words."

"He served at the pleasure of the President," Leo reminded him.

"He _serves_ at my pleasure, but I still owe him my thanks."

"Sir, Sam knows —" Josh began.

"No, he _doesn't_ know. Last Friday, you said Sam doesn't quit. I've thought long and hard about that, and you know what I realized? I, for one, haven't given him any reason to stay. And now, when I want to let him know how much I value him, you're all telling me I shouldn't. That I should stay away from this, from Sam. In a few hours, I'm going to give the last speech he may ever write for me, and I haven't thanked him for it, or for all the others he poured his heart and soul into." The President rose to his feet. "Sam must think I'm one ungrateful son of a bitch — and he's not far wrong." Striding to the door, he paused, his head down. When he turned to them, his eyes were glacial. "I'll give your recommendation all the consideration it deserves."

"Thank you, Mr. President," they replied in a disjointed chorus, their voices resigned murmurs.

The room was silent until the door closed behind him.

"Well, that could have gone better," Toby muttered.

CJ looked around the room. "Will he call Sam?"

Josh shook his head. "He's not going to call." He turned to Leo. "Is he?"

Leo dropped into his chair. "I don't know."

"How can you not know?" Josh demanded. "You've known him for like thirty years, right?"

"And believe it or not, I still can't read his mind."

"Then what's your best guess?"

"Josh, he's gonna do what he's gonna do." Leo picked up phone messages from the center of his desk.

"But, Leo —"

Leo looked at him over the rim of his glasses. "We have a country to run, so unless there's something else, let's get back to it. Toby, I need you for a minute."

Grabbing her pad, CJ was on her feet and out of the office before Josh started to move. Leo was right. The President would do what he wanted, regardless of their advice and counsel. In the meantime, she would cram an hour's worth of prep time into the half hour that remained before her next briefing.

"Carol, do you have..."


	18. Chapter 18

Sam leaned against the leather-upholstered seat and looked out the window as the car moved along the drive. Ahead of them, the White House stood bathed in light against the night sky. He had worked there for over a year, but his heart still raced every time he looked at it. Of course, tonight nerves might have something to do with that as well.

"My orders are to take you to the South Portico, Mr. Seaborn," the driver called over his shoulder. "You'll be met there."

"Thank you." Sam straightened his tie for the third time since getting into the car and tried to think of something calm, something soothing, something other than the next hour. When Charlie had called at nine that morning with a summons from the President, his stomach had twisted into knots. Now, the knots were knotting, and his heart was pounding.

As the car slowed to a stop, he wiped sweaty palms on his thighs. He used the few seconds as the driver came around the car to take a breath, hold it and exhale. His heart did not slow, but enough oxygen reached his brain to allow him to function.

The driver pointed at the already open door. "Right through there, sir."

As he walked to the entrance, Sam reviewed his meager knowledge of the White House. Wasn't the doctor's office located on this level? _Might be good to know that if I have a coronary._

Abbey Bartlet stood in the center of the vestibule. "Hello, Sam."

He glanced around. "G-good evening, Mrs. Bartlet. I was expecting Charlie."

"He's in the Oval, finishing up a few things with my husband, so I told him I'd take you upstairs myself."

_Oh, damn._ "Thank you, ma'am."

They walked to the elevator, the click of her heels against the marble marking each step. The inherent quiet of the building was almost palpable, but Sam failed to draw any sense of calm from it. He was simply too aware of the woman beside him.

Pushing the button for the second floor, the First Lady turned to him. "Have you been catching up on your sleep?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She frowned. "It's always been 'ma'am', hasn't it?"

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"You've always called me 'ma'am'. The others — Toby, Josh, CJ — they call me Abbey, at least they did during the campaign. CJ still does occasionally. But you never have. Why is that, Sam?"

"B-because..." _Because you've always scared the hell out of me. _He paused, grasping for another explanation; one that he hoped would suffice.

Tilting her head, Abbey scrutinized him. "I've always scared the hell out of you, haven't I?"

He blinked, wondering if he had spoken aloud. "To be perfectly honest, yes."

"Good, then maybe you'll listen to what I have to say."

For one awful moment, Sam was afraid she might hit the 'stop' button and hold him hostage until she finished. As much as he dreaded talking to the President, even that was preferable to a lecture from the First Lady. Suddenly his coat was too warm, the space was too small, and he was immensely grateful he had not eaten before leaving home. When the door slid open, it was all he could do to wait for her to exit ahead of him. Following her down the hall, he nodded vaguely to a Secret Service agent as he fought to control his nerves.

"Here we are," Abbey said, leading him into the President's private study. "Good lord, Sam! You're as white as a sheet."

"I'm fine." Taking off his overcoat, he draped it over the back of the couch.

She poured him a glass of water from the ever-present crystal pitcher. "Sit down and sip that slowly."

"Yes, ma'am." He chose the armchair closest to the door and farthest from the fireplace. As he drank the water, Abbey sat down on the edge of the coffee table just close enough that he smelled a gentle hint of her perfume.

"I'll make this brief."

Setting the glass on the table beside him, Sam tried to avoid the inevitable. "Ma'am, as much as I —" A raised eyebrow stopped him, and he sank back in the chair.

"Sam, Jed and Leo think you have one of the best minds of your generation. Did you know that? Out of everyone they have available to them, the best and the brightest this country has to offer, you're the one they believe in."

Sam grimaced, thinking of the times one or both had dismissed him without even considering that he might have a valid point. In the last month, they had not bothered listening at all.

"You think I'm wrong," Abbey accused him.

"No, I think we have different perspectives."

"And yours is?"

"Mrs. Bartlet, I've learned an incredible amount — more than I ever thought possible — just from being in the same room with them. It's something that will always inspire me."

"That's not an answer, Samuel."

_Of course it's not. _"Josh is their best and brightest. He's the one on the inside, the one they listen to."

Abbey sighed. "Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam. For a smart man, you are incredibly dense at times."

Sam shifted in his chair. "To my credit, I'm aware of that."

"You have so many strengths that just knock us all out. Yes, Josh has an incredible mind. But you, Sam, you have passion, the passion to see every side of a question before arguing the one you believe in with such intelligence. And then you translate that passion into inspired oratory."

Sam flinched, thinking of the last speech he had written. There had been no passion, no inspired oratory. He was not sure he was capable of either anymore.

"I've spent my married life listening to my husband give speeches and addresses and lectures. I have never heard him speak with the fervor, the intensity you infuse into everything you write. Your words touch his heart and his soul. Jed glories in your writing, Sam."

"I'm honored to have written for the President, ma'am, both during the campaign and here in the White House, but I'm not irreplaceable. There are dozens of writers who would kill to craft just one speech for him."

"But he wants you," a voice said from the doorway.

Sam rose to his feet. "Good evening, Mr. President."


	19. Chapter 19

"I'm sorry I'm late," the President said, dropping his briefcase on the desk. His eyes were warm as he shook Sam's hand. "It's good to see you."

"Thank you, sir."

Turning to the First Lady, he kissed her. "Abigail, are you torturing him? I thought we talked about that."

"How could we?" she returned. "You were planning to sneak Sam in and out of here without anybody knowing about it. I'm surprised you didn't tell Ron to stick him in the trunk of the car."

"I would have, if I had thought of it. And if I was so sneaky, how did you find out?"

"Oh, I have my ways," she teased as she turned to the door. "I'll leave you to talk, but Sam, remember what I said."

"Yes, ma'am."

The President waved Sam back to his chair. "I want you to try this single-malt," he announced, walking to the tray set out near the windows. He poured healthy amounts of whiskey into glasses and handed one to Sam. "The British Prime Minister brought this with him when he was here in February. We had quite a conversation over it one night."

Sam took a small sip, savoring the taste. "It's amazing, sir."

Sitting down on the couch, the President loosened his tie. "I thought you'd appreciate it. It has an interesting history —" He paused, catching himself. "— But that can wait for another time." Sighing, he leaned forward. "I have so much I want to say to you, so much I _need_ to say. And frankly, I'm not sure where to begin."

Sam looked down at the cut-crystal tumbler in his hand. He had promised himself that he would hear the President out, but he marveled at his own naiveté in believing he could distance himself from this man and all he had meant to him.

"Sam, I came across a quote the other day: ._..__the sea is a great breeder of friendship. Two men who have known each other for twenty years find that twenty days at sea bring them nearer than ever they were before._ Do you know who wrote that?"

"Gilbert Parker."

The President nodded. "It occurred to me what a perfect analogy it was for the campaign. We all learned so much about each other in so short a time. And from that, the two of us built a relationship based on mutual respect. I've always believed we could sit down and be honest with one another."

"I thought so too," Sam agreed softly. _Until you turned away and proved me wrong._

"I keep asking myself: when did we lose that? When did I lose _you_?"

The President walked over to the fireplace. He watched the flames for a minute, his hand gripping the mantel. "When Lizzie was six, I took her along with me on some errands, to get her out of Abbey's hair for a little while. Lizzie chattered away the whole time, telling me all about the play her class was putting on for Thanksgiving. I was distracted by something — to this day, I don't know what — and I wasn't paying much attention to her. In the middle of the supermarket, I suddenly realized she wasn't beside me. What was worse was that I couldn't remember when she had been. It took me fifteen minutes and half the store staff to find her, and I'll tell you, I aged about ten years. I never wanted to feel like that again, Sam, but I did last Friday."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm not a six-year-old girl lost in a supermarket."

"But you're a member of this family, and I lost you through my own negligence."

Frowning, Sam rolled the tumbler between his hands as the President returned to the couch.

"Sam, one of the many things I admire about you is your tenacity. You took a Federal Court judge around the block, stood toe to toe with Lillienfield and his thugs, and more than held your own in arguments with Josh and Toby, even Leo. Individually, any one of those things would gain my respect, but together..." He shook his head. "You've made me very proud to have you as a member of my staff.

"That's why, with all your passion, your spirit, I simply don't understand why you didn't fight for yourself. Why you didn't demand we listen to your ideas. Why you didn't remind us how much you've contributed."

Sam fought to keep his voice even. "If my work was valued, I wouldn't have had to do any of those things, sir."

"But you never denied us your gifts."

"I served at the pleasure of the President of the United States. Any gifts I possess were at his disposal to use or not, as he saw fit."

The President smiled sadly. "Even when he saw fit to take them and ignore the giver. I'm an ungrateful son of a bitch, Sam."

Sam remained silent, unwilling to absolve him of the pain he had inflicted.

"I knew what we were doing to you, and I convinced myself you were being treated no differently than anyone else."

"_We do unkind things in a kind way..._" He met the President's eyes evenly. "Bernard Shaw."

Bartlet nodded, acknowledging the hit. "I would give anything to take back these last few months, but that isn't what this is about, is it?"

"It's about the future."

"Which you don't want to spend here."

"Sir," Sam said bluntly, "there are things I want to do, to achieve; and I no longer see the White House — and my place in it — as the means to those ends."

"Have you decided what you'll do?"

"The only thing I've decided is that I'm going home. I won't start thinking about what my next step will be until then." Taking the last swallow of his whiskey, Sam put down the glass.

The President stood up, and Sam did so as well. "Toby has warned me about the consequences of not listening to my better angels, and he's right." He gripped Sam's shoulder. "You are my conscience and my better nature, and I have squandered your counsel. I can only beg you to forgive my arrogance."

Sam swallowed hard, shaken by the affection and loyalty he felt for this man. Both were emotions he thought he had carefully categorized and put away.

"Before I let you go, I have a favor to ask of you — although I no longer have that right. As you're considering your opportunities, it would please me greatly if you would include the one you have waiting for you here." The President pulled him into a brief hug, then stepped back, his eyes moist. "Godspeed, Sam."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

Picking up his overcoat, Sam stumbled on the rug as he reached the hall. A hand steadied him, and he met Charlie's dark, sympathetic eyes.

"You all right?"

Sam nodded. "Just clumsy."

"Having a conversation with the President will do that to you. C'mon, I'll take you down to the car."

"How have you been, Charlie?" he asked as they stepped onto the elevator.

"Not bad." He looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye. "Do you mind if I say something?"

"Go ahead, but let me warn you, between the President and the First Lady, there's very little I haven't heard tonight."

"Listen, I don't know what's going on except you resigned, the President has had a bunch of meetings about it, and I've talked to the FBI more than I'm comfortable with."

Sam smiled slightly. "It's always good to make connections in the Bureau."

"Maybe in your neighborhood, it is. In mine, it's a really good day when you pick up the phone and the guy on the other end _doesn't _say, 'This is Special Agent Simons of the FBI.'"

Sam's smile became a grin. "Sorry, I —"

"The President feels a connection to you, Sam."

His grin fading, Sam turned his attention to the display over the door. "I wrote his speeches for almost three years, Charlie. I put words to his vision."

"It's not just that. He sees a lot of himself in you, and he believes you two are pretty much in tune with each other. When you wrote that statement of support for Leo —"

_Do me a favor, Sam. Don't show initiative._

"— I brought it to him, and you know he wasn't even surprised? He said he'd been waiting for it. He was so sure you'd do it, he didn't even ask you to."

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out on the basement level.

"Sam, I know you put a lot of thought into it before you resigned, but I'm saying the President wants you here. And from what I've seen, so do the rest of Senior Staff and the communications assistants — especially Cathy."

Reaching into the pocket of his overcoat, Sam drew out a small slim box and an envelope. "Could you give these to her?"

Charlie looked at them and then at Sam, his eyes unhappy. "Sam, she won't want them. She's waiting for you to come back."

Sam held them out. "I want her to have them, to say thank you."

"And I'm telling you, she won't want them. Besides, nobody knows you're here. How am I going to explain how I got them?"

"You don't have to. Just leave them on her desk."

Charlie took them reluctantly. "Just think about what I said, okay?" He held out his hand. "Take it easy, man."

"You, too."

The driver held the door open, and Sam got into the car. As the car pulled away, he settled back against the seat, refusing to look back as they left the White House behind.


	20. Chapter 20

Josh finished reading the report he had brought with him and dropped it on the floor by his side. With a sigh, he tipped his head back against Sam's door and stared up at the ceiling. There were at least two more hours of work in his backpack, but he had no interest in doing any of it.

He had hoped to slip out of the White House early, but the President had asked him to stay for a meeting with the Commerce Secretary. Resigning himself to an hours-long post-meeting lecture on macroeconomics, he had been surprised when the President dismissed him saying he had another meeting, one he did not need Josh to attend. Pausing barely long enough to say good night, he hurried to his office and grabbed his backpack and coat before heading for Sam's apartment. He was determined that they would sit down tonight and talk.

Sam, however, was not cooperating. He had not answered the buzzer when Josh arrived, nor had he come to the door when one of his neighbors had recognized Josh and let him in. That had been, he checked his watch and sighed, eighty-seven minutes ago. _It's Wednesday night. Where the hell is he?_

The sound of footsteps drew his attention toward the stairs. He was almost startled when Sam came around the corner, his eyes on the keys in his hand. Josh climbed to his feet, his back protesting as he bent to retrieve his things.

"Hey."

Sam's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Not tonight."

"But..." Josh looked at him then, registering the dark suit under the open coat, the loosened tie. "Did you have an interview or something?"

"Yeah, an exit interview."

"'An ex...'" Realization hit. The President, a meeting. "Oh god, he called you in! You met with the President!"

Shoving his key into the lock, Sam turned it with more force than Josh felt necessary. "Yeah."

"No! He wasn't supposed to do that! We told him not to do that!"

Sam glanced at him over his shoulder, clearly unimpressed. "Well, guess what. He did."

Josh remained in the doorway as Sam hung up his coat and paced the length of the room. A week before, he would not have hesitated before following him into the apartment. Tonight he did not assume he still had that privilege.

"Honest, we told him not to," he offered, taking a step forward. "None of us thought it was a good idea."

Sam turned to face him, his arms crossed. "So the President ignored your advice. Welcome to the club; we meet on Tuesdays."

"Hey, it's not like that." Josh took another careful step and closed the door.

"It's exactly like that," Sam returned sharply. "Although, in my case, everyone else ignores me as well. You don't have much experience with that, though, do you?"

"People listen to you — _I _listen to you_._"

"Oh c'mon, Josh! You don't listen to me. You dismiss me without even considering that what I have to say might have merit."

"I do not!" Josh protested, dropping his backpack onto a chair.

"Bull! You do it all the time! In the last three months, you've shot down almost everything I've said."

"I haven't!" Even as he objected, a part of Josh smiled. '_Almost_ everything...' Even angry, Sam was still fair.

"Remember that meeting we had two weeks ago on the education initiative? You didn't accept any of the stats I brought in until Toby vouched for them." He ran a hand through his hair. "Then you took them!"

Josh gripped the back of the chair, recalling the look of what? shock? disappointment? on Sam's face. "Hey, I might _challenge_ you —"

"You treat me like I'm your stupid little brother! Well, I have news for you. I'm not stupid, and I sure as hell am not your little brother."

"I _never_ thought you were stupid! For god's sake, you're a senior advisor to the President of the United States!"

Sam walked over to the desk and picked up a glass paperweight. Tossing it from hand to hand, he shook his head. "Josh, you think I'm naïve and idealistic."

"Which are both things the rest of us don't have!"

"And you don't want because they get in the way," Sam added. "Don't you think I notice when you take your corrections to Toby when it's something I've written? Don't you think I notice what those corrections are? Anything that even hints at idealism never makes it past the first draft."

Josh rubbed his eyes. This was an old argument. "There are things we'd love to say, but we can't."

"Then come to me, and we'll discuss it!"

"We shouldn't have to discuss anything! I go to Toby because I don't want to have the same fight over and over with you. Why can't you just —" He pulled himself up short. _Don't say it, don't even think it._

Sam's voice was dangerously quiet. "Grow up? Is that what you were going to say, Josh? Why can't I just grow up and be like you?"

"Why can't you just let these things go?" Josh asked, relieved he had come up with something so fast. Clearly, the money his parents had spent on Harvard and Yale had not been wasted.

"Why can't I? Because when you're _idealistic_ —" Sam spat the word as if it were a curse. "— It's difficult to walk away from what you believe in."

"That's obviously not true, considering the fact you just _quit_!"

The hit was direct, breathtaking in its accuracy. Sam paled, nearly dropping the paperweight before carefully setting it down. Bracing his fists on the desk, he stared at the polished wood surface, his shoulders stiff with tension.

"You don't know how difficult it was to —"

"Quit?" Josh demanded, knowing how much his friend hated the word and its connotation. "Because that's what you did, Sam. You _quit_."

"I resigned."

"No, you quit. You walked away from the White House, the President and all of us without even trying to fix what was wrong." Josh paced in a circle, his hands on his hips. "You know, it's pretty funny. Last Friday, I told everybody you never quit anything in your life."

"Well then, you were wrong, weren't you?"

He moved toward Sam, stopping when he was a little more than an arm's length away. "Why the hell didn't you talk to me? That's what I really need to know."

Turning to face him, Sam took a step to close the remaining distance. "Because you wouldn't have listened. You would've shelved my concerns and told me I was wrong, that I had misread the situation...again. That I'd better get with the program because this is the way the White House works!"

"And maybe I would've been right!"

"Of course you would've been right! You're always right!"

"Then why the hell won't you listen to me?"

"Because I want to think for myself. I don't want your opinion of what I should or shouldn't do."

Josh drew in a harsh breath, trying to calm his temper. "Sam, I have a lot more experience —"

"No! That doesn't wash any more. It may have been true in the beginning, but not now."

"You've done your homework. I get that, I really do. But there are still a lot of things you don't know, that you can't understand."

"Why? Because I'm naïve and idealistic?"

"Because you're not on the inside."

"And you are."

"And I am." Josh grabbed Sam's shoulder when he would have walked away. "Leo and the President have nothing but respect for the work you do. Do you know how huge that is? They've watched how much you've grown since we came into office."

"But they don't trust me to do any more than I was a year ago. None of you do." Shaking off Josh's hand, he gestured toward the door. "Please, just go." His voice was infinitely weary.

"No, we're going to finish this."

"This _is_ finished, Josh."

"No, it's not. You're going home in a couple of days to think? Good, 'cause I'm going to give you some stuff to think about."

Sam dropped onto the couch, rubbing his temples as Josh paced back and forth.

"Do you remember the conversation we had when you were at Duke? About practicing law and —"

"Being in politics? Yeah."

"I gave you an ultimatum, didn't I? You could either accept the job at Dewey Ballantine or come to Washington —"

"But I couldn't do both."

"Stop interrupting and let me finish," Josh ordered. "I honestly believed that you could only do one well, and I wanted you to choose politics. You, however, didn't listen."

"And you didn't speak to me for something like three months after I moved to Manhattan."

"Yeah, well, I was busy," Josh mumbled. "But my point here is that you've proven me wrong, Sam. You walked away from a partnership at the third largest —"

"Second largest," Sam corrected.

Josh rolled his eyes. "All right, the _second_ largest law firm in New York. You left all that and joined the campaign. And since then, you've just blown me away with everything you've learned and how fast you've learned it."

"But?"

Josh sat down on the armchair and leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs and his hands clasped. "But you've got to give the rest of us time to adjust, Sam. You say things in meetings, and people are stunned half the time because you shouldn't be the one saying them. Hell, there have been times when I was still wrapping my head around a problem, and you were already coming up with ways to clean it up. I've seen the President look at you with this... _wonder_ in his eyes."

"So what should I do until the rest of you catch up? Sit quietly and not say anything?"

"No, you should stand up and yell until we listen to you."

Sam sighed and dropped his head onto the back of the couch. "I can't. I tried that, and it didn't work. Now I'm just too tired."

Josh stood up and grabbed his backpack. "Then go home and rest. Mess around in boats and think. When you're ready, we'll be here."

"And if I never am?"

He walked to the door. "I came to get you once before, Sam. Don't think that I won't do it again."

"That was different," Sam objected.

"You're right. Now we're playing for keeps.


	21. Chapter 21

As CJ poured herself coffee from the Sevres pot (Was it Sevres? She never kept it straight, and god forbid she ask the President), she studied the other occupants of the Oval Office. Toby met her eyes and shrugged slightly before returning his attention to his notes. Josh had rolled the folder he was holding into a cylinder and was now tapping it against his leg. He looked — she searched for the word — twitchy. Working hard to appear as if nothing was bothering him but one minute away from leaping to his feet and confessing to some misdeed. _Depending on what he's done, this could be both interesting and entertaining_. The President was busy at his desk, signing letters. Leo, who had called this meeting, was the only person missing.

The door to the colonnade swung open, and they all rose to their feet when Abbey walked in. She carried a coat and a briefcase, dropping them both on the chair beside her husband's desk.

The President looked at her over his glasses. "I thought you were headed off to Philadelphia today."

"I have a few minutes before I have to leave, and Leo asked me to stop in," she said, kissing him and straightening his tie. "Where is he?"

"Right here," Leo said, coming through the connecting door from his office and closing it behind him.

Abbey sat down in one of the armchairs as CJ sat on the couch beside Toby. Josh took a breath and let it out in a ragged gust. He ran a finger around the inside of his collar as if it had suddenly grown too tight.

"Leo, what's this about?" the President asked.

"Something came to my attention this morning, and I thought we should discuss it." Leo looked around the room. "Who, besides me, _didn't _talk to Sam last night?"

CJ raised her hand, and then realized only Toby had as well. "All three of you?" she asked faintly.

"So much for not overwhelming him," Toby sighed, rubbing his forehead.

Leo glared at them. "I find it absolutely amazing how much mayhem we can inflict on one person in a single night. Didn't we advise you not to bring Sam in, Mr. President?"

"And I decided I wanted to tell him how important he is to me and to this administration." The President pointed at Abbey. "In my own defense, I rescued him from a scolding by my wife."

"I didn't scold him! We had a perfectly pleasant conversation!" the First Lady protested.

Leo shook his head in disbelief. "Abbey, you know you intimidate Sam!"

"He's not alone. It's part of her charm," the President muttered.

Abbey glared at them both. "Well, if I got through to him then it worked, didn't it?"

"And did it?" Leo asked.

"I don't know. He was polite; he was attentive; he was..." She waved vaguely.

"Sam," CJ supplied softly and saw Toby glance at her.

Leo turned to his deputy. "Which brings us to Josh."

Josh's eyes darted to CJ and Toby, obviously seeking their support. "I said I wanted to talk to him. I've been trying since Friday!"

"So you went to his apartment last night?"

"Yeah, I was there when he got home, although I'd like to point out that I didn't know he'd been here until he told me."

"Which was when?" CJ asked.

Tugging at his collar again, Josh mumbled, "Right after he showed up."

"And you didn't back off?"

"He didn't mention the First Lady. And I've been trying to talk to him —"

"Since Friday," Toby finished, his voice cold. "Yeah, we get it. Did it never occurred to you that maybe, just maybe Sam had already had enough (with all due respect, sir, ma'am) well-intentioned advice for one night?"

"In the time I've known Sam, I've learned one thing. He needs to yell and rant and get things out of his system. That's why I went over there."

"And did he?" CJ shot back.

He studied his hands. "Not as much he should have," he admitted. "I should've camped out there on Friday."

"He's exhausted, Josh. Haven't you figured that out? He's worn out from trying."

Josh's head snapped up, his eyes hard and angry. "Since when are you the knower of all-things-Sam?" he demanded.

"Since he talked to _me_, since _I_ listened!" she shot back. "Maybe you should try it."

"That's enough," Leo cut in.

"Leo, how did you find out?" the President asked. "No one but Charlie — and my wife apparently — knew Sam was coming in."

"This morning, my driver mentioned he picked up some overtime bringing Sam here after he dropped me off at the hotel last night. And then, when Josh came in looking guilty this morning, it didn't take much to put it together, and come up with the Three Musketeers."

"Better make that the Gang of Four," the President advised him. "Charlie took him down the car when we finished."

"Four of you," Leo repeated. "Do you think that was fair?"

"I'm the President. I don't have to be fair."

CJ looked around the room. "What do we do now?"

"You should call him," Toby said, turning to her.

Josh sat up straight. "No! No phone calls!"

"You finally talked to Sam so now we all leave him alone — is that it?" Toby asked.

"All of us have talked to him and told him what we want him to know, so I think this is the point we take a step back. This is _Sam_, for God's sake. We couldn't stop him from examining every angle of this if we tried."

"I told him that," Abbey said sadly, and the President gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. She covered his hand with her own.

"As much as the thought scares me, Josh may be right," Leo said slowly. "Let Sam go home and think for a while. It will give us a chance to plan — and let me emphasize the word _'plan'_ — what we should do next. Anyone disagree?" He looked at each of them in turn. "All right, let's get back to work. Josh, I need to see you for a minute."

CJ followed Toby out, surprised when he turned toward her office, jotting notes on the spiral-bound pad in his hand. As they walked into her office, he let her pass him, closing the door as she dropped into her desk chair.

"Can you believe that?" she demanded. "I know it wasn't intentional, but good lord, _four_ of them!"

He ripped off two sheets of paper and held them out to her. "Here's what you say."

She looked from the papers to Toby. "What I say to whom?"

"Sam, when you call."

"I'm not calling Sam! Didn't you hear what Leo just said? I'm not calling Sam, you're not calling Sam, _nobody_ is calling Sam!"

"Well, thank you for conjugating that for me, CJ. It makes everything so much clearer!" He glared at her. "Think about it. Do you really want Sam believing that we all got together and planned last night?"

Snatching the pages from him, CJ scanned them. "You wrote a statement?"

Toby looked uncomfortable. "It's not a statement; it's..." He sighed heavily. "They're suggestions."

"Sam will know the second I try to spin this."

"For god's sake, you're not spinning anything! They're just talking points. You were going to call him, weren't you?"

"Just to tell him to have a safe trip. I didn't think it was going to turn into damage control!"

"Well, it has," Toby said quietly. "Look, just think about it, will you? I'd do it, but he'd hang up as soon as he heard my voice."

"I'll think about it, but I'm not promising anything."

He walked to the door and stopped with his hand on the knob. "I need my deputy back, CJ. I want Sam here." Yanking open the door, he disappeared down the hall.

"So do I, Toby, so do I," she murmured. She sat for a minute, rereading what he had written. She smiled and nodded slightly before sliding the pages under her phone.


	22. Chapter 22

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the phone in his hand. It had been a strange twenty-four hours, made worse by little real rest. He had been so tired when Josh had finally left, so sure he would sleep through the night. His dreams, though, had been full of voices clamoring at him to listen, to heed disjointed words of advice. He had finally given up and gotten up before dawn, more tired and stressed than he had been when he had gone to bed.

He almost dropped the phone when it rang. Checking the caller ID, he sighed with relief as he pressed 'talk'. "CJ?"

Her voice was brisk, one he immediately recognized from briefings. "I'm going to read a short statement and then take a few questions."

Sam held the phone away from his ear and blinked, wondering when he had joined the White House Press Corps. "CJ," he tried again, "what are you —"

"Hold your questions until the end," she ordered him.

"Right…"

"There are times when the concern and affection we feel for a friend and colleague override our collective common sense, undermining whatever good we try to accomplish. Last night was just such a time. Well-intentioned —"

"You're _spinning_ this?" Sam asked, half horrified and half amused.

"Just let me finish this, and then we'll forget this conversation ever happened."

"You are! You're spinning this!"

The rustle of paper carried over the line along with CJ's sigh and the creak of her chair as she leaned back. "It's not me _per se_, but…"

He gripped the phone tighter as the meter and weight of the words she had read hit him. "Toby," he supplied, wondering why his voice was suddenly husky. He cleared his throat. "Toby wrote that."

"He — _we_ were worried you'd think we actually planned what happened last night."

For the first time since crawling out of bed, Sam smiled. "That's about the last thing I thought."

There was a hesitant pause. "Really?"

"You didn't see Josh's reaction when I told him I'd just come from the White House. Nobody could've faked that, especially Josh."

"Hey, give him some credit. He can fake out most of the Republican Party without breaking a sweat. You're the one of the few people who sees through him."

Sam frowned, seeing the path she was guiding him towards and resenting it. "CJ, please leave it alone." _Leave me alone._

"The two of you have been friends a long time," she reminded him.

"Things change, friendships change."

"No, not yours. God, you made it through the campaign and were closer than when you started — and that's saying a lot! Sure, you argue, but that's who you guys are."

"Ah yes, the savvy politician and naïve idealist. That came up in conversation last night, as a matter of fact."

"It did?"

"Right before the part about me growing up."

"Wait, Josh said that?"

"No, believe it or not, he managed to stop himself before the words actually came out of his mouth." He frowned and scrubbed his face with his hand. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"No, but that's nothing new," she teased.

"He told me the President and Leo have noticed the progress I've made, but there are still a lot of things I don't know. For those, I'm supposed to depend on his expert guidance."

"He's looking out for you. He doesn't want to see you fail."

"I _want_ to fail. I want to try things and see what happens without Josh looking over my shoulder and telling me what to do."

"Have you told him that?"

"Come on, CJ, be honest! You know he doesn't listen to me!" Sam countered, his voice sharp. He took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'm sorry. Let's not have this conversation, okay?"

"Who else _can_ you have it with?"

He sighed, staring at the floor. "I don't want to have it with anyone."

CJ's voice was unbearably kind. "You're going to have to have it sooner or later."

"I will — just not now. I need some distance."

"Look, I know you have your mom and dad, but I'm here if you need me."

"I know."

"And it's not just me."

"CJ…"

"Let me just say this, okay? You say the word, and any one of us will be on the first plane out there."

"Thanks."

She was silent for a minute. "Are you all right? The President, the First Lady and Charlie, one after the other. How'd that go?"

Sam stretched out across the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "It was… pretty much like you'd think it would be.

"Josh told you that we advised the President against bringing you in, right?"

"Yeah."

"He wanted to go with Toby on Tuesday, but we managed to talk him out of it."

"Who, Josh?"

"No, the President."

Sam considered it for a moment. "Well, that would have been…"

"Surreal?"

"That's one word for it." He swallowed a yawn.

"You sound exhausted, kiddo."

"I've been up since 4:30. The good news is that I've been packed since 6:00."

Her laugh warmed him. "What time's your flight tomorrow?"

"9:15. Thank god there aren't any stopovers so I can get some sleep."

"Do you need a ride to the airport? I could slip out for a little while."

"Thanks, but I'm good."

"It's really no — Hold on a sec, will you?" CJ asked, and Sam heard Josh's voice in the background.

She did not cover the mouthpiece, but Sam could not make out much. He closed his eyes and felt himself drifting. The world at the other end of the phone line was fast becoming a memory. He no longer felt the rush of adrenalin that had accompanied any thought of the West Wing.

"You there?"

"Yeah, what's going on?"

"That was Josh reminding me not to call you. Too late for that, huh?"

"You're not supposed to call me?"

"None of us are. Leo laid down the law this morning."

"You're kidding me."

"Yeah, he decided we've all bugged you enough."

"And you..."

"Well, I had already planned to call and tell you to have a safe trip, so it was grandfathered into my day."

"Ah..."

There was a silence, and then CJ spoke briskly. "Go take a nap. You sound all tuckered out."

"'Tuckered'?" he teased.

"Shut up, it's a word!"

"Yeah, one my great-grandmother used."

"I'm hanging up on you now. Have a safe trip, and send me an email when you get there."

"I don't know, CJ, I might be too tuckered out to write."

"Say it again, and I'll be knocking on your door in half an hour, sarcasm boy."

"Sorry!"

"Sam, remember I'm here for you, okay? Any time."

"I'll remember," he promised. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Make sure you do," and she hung up.

Sam leaned over and put the phone back into the charger. Flopping back on the bed, he grabbed the edge of the comforter and pulled it over himself. He yawned and closed his eyes. So Leo had ordered them to leave him alone. As he drifted to sleep, Sam smiled. What would CJ have said if he told her he had hung up from Leo's call a minute before hers?


	23. Chapter 23

At half-past seven, David Seaborn dropped his keys into the brass dish on the lowboy in the center hallway, pausing to smile at the rental-car keys already lying there. He stopped in the library to leave his briefcase on the desk. He had not brought work home for the first time in months. He planned to spend the next two days with his son. Sniffing the air, he followed the wonderful smell of garlic and chicken and wine into the kitchen.

He wrapped his arms around his wife as she stirred a pot on the stove. "Chicken cacciatore? We haven't had that in ages. It smells incredible!" As he dropped a kiss on her dark hair, he realized she was crying. "Katie, what's wrong?"

Kate put down the spoon and turned in his arms. "It's Sam. He looks... He's exhausted."

"Couldn't be any worse than law school, though, right?" he tried joking. During his years at Duke, they had seldom seen Sam awake for the first two days of any visit. He would appear for the occasional meal and then stagger back to bed.

She wiped away tears with the back of her hand. "Worse. I've never seen him this way."

"Well, on top of doing a very demanding job, he's had a tough couple of months."

"I wish he'd told us. We could've been there for him. We _should've_ been there."

"That's not Sam," he reminded her.

"He's too damn stubborn for his own good." Kate looked at him. "He gets that from you."

He laughed. It was an old argument between them. "Where is he?"

"Asleep. I'm debating if we should even wake him for dinner."

"If we don't, he's going to be upset he missed this," David told her, nodding toward the stove. "I'll get him when I go up to change, all right?" He grabbed a piece of bread and dunked it into the sauce. "Oh, he won't want to skip dinner tonight."

Kate laughed and pushed him toward the door. "Go and change. It will be ready in fifteen minutes."

David ran up the curved staircase to the second floor. Turning right at the top for the first time in eight months, he knocked lightly and let himself into his son's room. The sconces in the hall filled the space with soft, filtered light. The room itself was neat, Sam's things already put away.

Sam was lying on his side facing the door. As David crouched beside the bed, he tried to remember a time when he had found his son sleeping in any other position. Kate was right; he looked exhausted. Even in sleep, he was frowning, a crease in-between his brows.

"Time for dinner, son." He waited a minute, then gently shook Sam's shoulder. "C'mon, your mom's been cooking all afternoon."

Sam woke slowly. "Dad? Wha' time zit?" he mumbled.

"7:45. You want some dinner?"

"Yeah…" Rolling onto his back, he stretched. "Give me a sec."

"I'm going to change. Mom said fifteen minutes before we eat, okay?"

"'Kay," Sam managed around a yawn.

Using the edge of the bed, David pushed himself to his feet and studied his son for a moment. "Go back to sleep. You can eat later."

"No, I'm good. Didn't mean t'sleep so long."

"Supper will keep. You look done in."

"Law school tired?"

"White House tired."

Sam grimaced. "Ain't that the truth."

As he walked to the door, David glanced back. Used to a Sam who was alert seconds after opening his eyes, it bothered him to see his son still blinking his way to full wakefulness. He frowned as he crossed the landing to the master suite and changed into jeans and a sweater. Even before his son's confession on Sunday night, though, he had sensed there was something wrong, but had not pressed him, knowing how Sam hated being fussed over. Now he damned himself for not trying harder, not calling more. He had tried calling during the week, but thanks to an unusually frantic schedule, had not connected with Sam. He had placated himself with the knowledge that he would be home at the end of the week.

As he started downstairs, he realized that Sam's door was still only partially open. Doubling back, he poked his head in. Sam had fallen back to sleep. His frown had eased, but the dark circles under his eyes were visible even in the half-light.

Kate was lighting the candles on the table when he walked in. "Did you wake him?"

"Yeah, but he was asleep again before I finished changing."

As David poured the wine, she cleared Sam's place setting and brought in dinner. They ate quietly, both disappointed it was just the two of them after a week of anticipating having Sam there as well.

"How do you think he looked?" Kate asked as she took a second helping of salad.

"You were right. I've never seen him that tired, and that was after a couple hours of sleep."

"When he got here, I asked if he wanted some lunch, but he wasn't interested. We talked for a few minutes, and then he went upstairs. He was asleep when I checked on him half an hour later."

David reached over and covered her hand with his. "It's no wonder he's tired. He was up at the crack of dawn to catch the flight."

"And after what he's been through for the last two months..." She frowned and shook her head. "I don't care what you say, I'm furious with Josh!"

He groaned. They had been over this and over this. "Sweetheart —"

"I mean it! Josh isn't just another colleague; he's supposed to be Sam's friend. Why didn't he help?"

David refilled their wine glasses. "Sam's a grown man, Kate, a counselor to the President. He can take care of himself."

She nodded. "I know, but I get angry every time I think about it."

"Me, too," he admitted. "I expected better from those people."

They sat quietly for a minute before Kate picked up her plate. "If we're done, why don't you take the wine into the family room?"

"Why don't I help you clean up, and then we'll both take the wine into the family room? It's a good night for a fire," he countered. As Kate passed him, he pulled her into his arms. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine."

She leaned against him. "You promise?"

"I do. We just have to give Sam time to get his feet back underneath him."

"And then?"

"He'll decide what he wants to do, and we'll support him."

"Same as always."

He smiled. "Same as always."


	24. Chapter 24

By early evening on Monday, CJ was ready to tear her hair out. She had spent three frustrating days telling her colleagues individually and as a group that no, she had not heard from Sam. Thanks to the FBI, they knew he had arrived in Los Angeles as scheduled and rented a car, but after that, nothing. From the President down to Cathy, they all wanted one thing — word from Sam himself. And until they got it, they seemed hell-bent on making her life miserable. In desperation, she had sent Sam an email late on Sunday, but had not yet received a reply.

After calling a full lid, CJ escaped the Press Room and hurried to her office. Josh checked in after every meeting, eagerly asking, "Heard anything from Sam?" As annoyed as she was with the way he had treated Sam, CJ felt worse and worse as she watched his face fall every time she said no.

Toby had asked only twice, the sadness in his eyes deepening when she shook her head. Every time she walked through the Communications bullpen, all three assistants looked up expectantly. Cathy had shown her the bracelet Sam had sent through Charlie, the delicate silver shining against the satin inside the box. He had sent a letter as well, but she refused to open it. CJ understood. The letter made Sam's resignation real, and Cathy was not ready to believe that was possible.

Sitting down at her desk, CJ opened her laptop and typed in her password. With little real hope, she scanned the list of messages. Ten new ones in fifteen minutes, but nothing from Sam. She cursored down the screen, deleting a few as she went. As she read the first one, another one popped up at the bottom. She glanced at the name and grinned.

"That's my boy!" she murmured as she opened it.

Before she read it, Carol knocked lightly on her open door. "Charlie just called. The President wants to see you."

CJ looked up. "Did he say why?"

"Sounds like a status thing."

CJ nodded. "On my way." She clicked the print icon and waited long enough to grab the email before heading down the corridor.

Toby and Josh were both leaning in the doorway of the Outer Oval so she stepped into the Mural Room and scanned the page.

_I know, I know! I promised to email on Friday, but I barely said hello to my mother before staggering upstairs and falling asleep. (I won't say I was "tuckered out" because I know it will just end painfully for me.) Mom made an incredible dinner which I ended up eating at 10:30 before going back to bed for another 10 hours. This was, of course, followed by a day of intermittent napping._

_My dad and I spent yesterday sailing. I haven't been near a boat since Labor Day, something my muscles are reminding me of this morning. It was fantastic being on the water again. I love the Pacific this time of year. We went out to the Channel Islands, ate the lunch Mom packed, and came back. I was in high school the last time we did that. The weather was perfect — sunny with just enough wind. One of my dad's partners has a Laser that he's said I should use while I'm here. I plan to take it out tomorrow._

_With the country between us, I can confess I haven't watched a single briefing since Thursday. I read the front page on Sunday, but still haven't caught the evening news. I'm currently working under the premise that, if anything important happens, someone (read here: you) will tell me. I'll try to call in the next few days._

_Regards,  
__Sam_

CJ tucked the sheet of paper into her portfolio and joined Toby and Josh. "What's the hold-up?" she asked.

"He's ready for you now," Charlie announced as a small group from State left. He looked at CJ. "I hope you have news."

She grinned. "I'm the Press Secretary, I always have news."

"He's threatening to call."

"At least he hasn't learned to use email," Josh said as he passed him.

"Don't even joke about that!" Charlie ordered him. "You know who'd be responsible for teaching him, don't you? And the idea of the President with access to the internet..." He shuddered.

As she started into the Oval Office, CJ tapped her portfolio on his chest. "Don't worry, I've got your back."

Charlie smiled, the tension dropping from his shoulders. "Yes! Thank you, Sam."

As CJ sat down beside Josh, the President turned to her. "Well? Have you heard from our boy?"

She pulled out the email. "Yes, sir. It just came in."

"And?" Josh demanded, and she knew he was seconds away from snatching it from her hand.

"He apologized for not writing sooner, but apparently he spent most of Friday and Saturday asleep. Yesterday, he went sailing with his dad." She looked at the email. "Anybody know what a Laser is? 'Cause he's got one to use while he's there."

"It's a one-man sailboat — they race them in the Olympics," Toby offered. He saw the surprise on CJ's face and shrugged. "What? Sam talked about it once or twice, and it stuck."

"Anything else?" Leo asked.

"He'll try to call in a few days." She started to put the email away, but caught Josh's look and handed it to him instead.

The President nodded. "All right. It's time to start planning how we'll go on from here."

Toby's head shot up. "I'm sorry, sir, but Sam's barely gotten home. Didn't we agree to give him some time before we launched another assault?"

The President held up his hand. "I'm well aware of that. I have it on good authority, though, that we need to start working on this now to avoid another —" He looked at Leo. "What did you call it?"

"I believe I used the term 'unmitigated disaster', Mr. President."

"And I'll take it as a stroke of luck that you managed to contain your feelings on the subject."

"Yes, sir."

As Toby tried again to dissuade the President from doing anything, CJ glanced at Josh. He was frowning at the eagle on the presidential seal woven into the carpet.

"Everything okay?" she asked quietly.

He turned to her. "He… Yeah." His voice was quiet. "It sounds like Sam."

"A Sam we haven't seen for a while."

He sighed. "Yeah." He met her gaze. "I want Sam back."

"You're not alone."

"I want _this_ —" He waved the email. "— Sam back. I want him fighting and arguing and full of life. I didn't realize how far he'd drifted from that. And if it takes him a couple of weeks on a sailboat to figure everything out, I'm willing to wait."

"I'm not."

They both turned, startled by the sound of the President's voice. CJ recovered first. "Why not, sir?"

"Because every day, every hour, Sam's away from us, we lose a little more of ourselves, a little more of the reason we worked so hard to get here."

"We'll get him back," Leo interrupted, "but we all agreed to give him time to sort things out."

"I never agreed to weeks." The President looked at each of them. "The day Sam resigned, I told you all that I wanted it fixed. The time has come to add the word 'now'."

"_Let the word go out from this time and this place_," Abbey quoted as she came in. "I take it you've heard from Sam."

"Yes, ma'am," Josh said, passing her the email.

Sitting on the arm of the President's chair, she read it and then handed it back. "He's eating, sleeping and exercising. Exactly what I would have prescribed. Now we give him some time. I'm sure there are other things we can do in the interim."

"Josh, did you have any luck tracking down that friend Sam spoke to about environmental law?" Leo asked.

Josh passed the email to Toby. "I couldn't find anything in his phone logs, so I made a couple of calls. There's only one firm in DC that handles environmental law and has a Duke grad who was in Sam's class. The guy made partner last year."

"Where do we go from here with that?" CJ asked. "You can't exactly threaten him for talking to Sam."

"Not that I haven't considered it," Josh admitted, smiling for the first time since they had come in. "I'm going to do some more research on the firm. Find out what kinds of litigation they've done in the past, who they worked for, that kind of thing. See what they've got that would interest Sam."

CJ nodded. "If you need help..." she offered.

"Thanks."

"Leo, I want to sit down with you and Toby," the President announced. "We'll review what Sam's done for the last couple of months."

"I've started that already, sir," Toby said quietly. "Cathy and Ginger are pulling together the schedules and assignments for the last six months."

"I've been evaluating some of the things we have in-house that nobody has been able to touch," Leo admitted. "There may be some areas that would appeal to Sam."

"You might want to have Cathy go through his files," CJ said to Toby. "When we had dinner, he mentioned doing a lot of homework on things nobody cared about. She might be able to tell what he was reading."

"I'll talk to her," Toby said, handing back the email. CJ gave it to Josh, who looked surprised before folding and sliding it into his jacket pocket.

"All right then, we'll see what we can put together that might tempt Sam," the President decided. "Josh, you'll let us know what you and CJ find out?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"Jed, we really need to hurry if we're going to make it to dinner on time," Abbey said. "You may be the President, but you know that if Doug and Marian don't eat at 8:15 on the dot, their world's going to end."

"Which might not be such a bad thing," the President grumbled as he stood up, "but their chef makes this incredible lamb dish. Cook it ten minutes too long, though, and it's as tough as shoe leather. For that and that alone, I'll be on time."

"Good night, Mr. President," Leo said as the First Couple left the Oval. He turned to the rest of them. "All right, everybody knows what they're supposed to be working on?" When they all agreed, he nodded. "Okay, get out of here. We still have a country to run."


	25. Chapter 25

David sat in the main conference room of Callahan, Seaborn & Brown surrounded by partners and associates. Every few months, they scheduled an informal working dinner. It gave everyone a chance to catch up on the projects the firm was designing and get status reports on those already under construction. Tonight, one of the newer architects had asked for input from the group, and now everyone was brainstorming. It was one of David's favorite times. He leaned back in his chair, listening as people threw out ideas, tossing out a few of his own.

His administrative assistant slipped into the room and handed him a folded slip of paper. Slipping on his glasses, he glanced at it, expecting a response from a client in Hong Kong. He read the note, and then read it again.

"I'm sorry. I have a call," he announced, getting to his feet. "Liam, take over, will you?" He hurried down the hall to his office. "Carla, would you put it through, please?"

Carla was a bright, energetic addition to the firm who was rarely rattled. Now she clutched the telephone receiver, and her hand shook as she took the call off hold. "I'm t-transferring your call now."

David picked up the phone on the first ring. "David Seaborn."

"Good evening, Mr. Seaborn. I'm calling from the White House," a woman said. "Would you hold for the President, please?"

"Of course."

A moment later, there was a click and then a familiar voice said, "David, Jed Bartlet."

"Good evening, Mr. President."

"David, I'm calling to apologize. I'm afraid we returned Sam a little worse for wear."

David remembered the night they had opened their home to the Bartlet campaign staff after the California Primary. Sam had radiated joy and pride as he introduced his parents to the Bartlets. That moment had persuaded both David and Kate that their son had chosen well when he had turned his back on corporate law.

"With all due respect, Mr. President, you're very lucky you're not having this conversation with my wife."

"She's angry. Abbey thought she would be."

"We're both angry. Maybe we were wrong, but we expected better from a group of people we thought were Sam's friends."

The President sighed. "Somehow we lost track of that."

"Sir, you lost track of _Sam_," David pointed out.

"And I didn't keep the promise I made to you. I've thought about that a great deal in the last week. I don't know what he's told you, but I can't honestly say I've looked out for Sam's best interests."

"He hasn't talked about what happened since he's been home. And all he said when he called was that things were bad and he tried, but he couldn't fix them." _And then he apologized._

"They weren't his to fix. We — _I_ should have prevented this. I can't tell you how sorry I am that I didn't."

"As am I."

"David, everyone here — and I count myself chief among them — would do anything to call back the last few months."

"I wish you could, sir. Sam was so — well, 'happy' doesn't begin to cover it. He was challenged in a way he's never been before. When he called us the night of the State of the Union, he couldn't finish a sentence, he was so excited. Not only over the writing and your delivery, but the fact that some of his ideas had been included." David paused. "That isn't the Sam who came home to us, sir."

"I know," the President admitted sadly. "When I spoke to him on Wednesday night, I saw for myself how exhausted he is, physically and emotionally."

"Can you blame him for resigning?" David asked.

"No, I can't. I confess I think of Sam as young with his passions and his idealism, but I am awed by him. There are few men — young or old — who would have fought as long and as hard as he did. He's an important part of this administration, and I didn't realize how much I've come to depend on him and his gifts."

David thought of his son's fatigue and the sadness that clung to him. "Frankly, sir, I don't know if he has any more to give."

"We want the chance, David, the chance to make things right. To have Sam come back to the White House."

"To tell you the truth, I think he would be hard pressed to listen to any of you right now," David advised him.

"I was hoping I could persuade you to speak on our behalf."

"I'm sorry, sir. As his father, it's my job to make sure he chooses what's right for him — not for you or the White House."

"David —"

"Mr. President, Kate and I will support whatever Sam decides. We won't pressure him or allow anyone else to."

"And if he ultimately decides to come back?"

"We'll support him in that, but as I said, it's Sam's choice."

There was a silence between them for a moment. "I see where Sam gets his tenacity," the President finally said.

David laughed. "If you think I'm tenacious, you haven't spoken to my wife. She puts me to shame, sir."

"Sam comes by it honestly, does he?"

"Yes, sir."

"David..." The President paused. "Will you advise Sam not to return?"

David relaxed his grip on the phone. "No, I won't. As I said, it's all up to Sam. But sir, I warn you now, if he returns and this should ever happen again..."

"You have my word it won't."

"That's all I ask."

"Please extend my apologies to Kate."

"I will. Thank you for calling, sir."

"I wish it were under better circumstances. Maybe we'll have a chance to sit down and enjoy another cigar some time. I look back at that evening with great fondness."

"As do I, Mr. President."

"Good night, David."

"Good night, sir."

David slowly set the phone into its cradle and turned to gaze out the window beside his desk. Tilting back in his chair, he stared out. He had immediately liked Jed Bartlet when Sam had introduced them, but his respect for him had grown exponentially since the election. That he had called meant a great deal, but there was still the matter of the promise he had made.

Sam had been thrilled when Kate had suggested inviting the senior campaign staff for dinner. He had not been home for months, and this would provide him the opportunity to see his parents and introduce them to people who had become his friends and colleagues. And the rest of the staff had been immediately accepted, happy to eat something homemade and escape the pressure of pursuing the nomination for a few hours.

On Super Tuesday, they had arrived exhilarated after winning not only California, but also the lion's share of the primaries. David had met them at the door, hugging his son hard and welcoming his friends. He and Kate had met and liked Josh when Sam interned in Washington. Josh was older, more confident now, but his exuberance was unchanged. CJ was taller than David expected with a dry sense of humor and a habit of treating both Josh and Sam like younger brothers, alternately teasing them and stepping in when one of them tormented the other. Toby stood back, whiskey in hand, watching the others. Quietly satisfied with the day's outcome, he nodded politely to David as he passed, but did not seem inclined toward conversation.

The Bartlets and Leo were last-minute additions to the guest list, arriving half an hour after the others with a Secret Service detail in tow. Soon after dinner ended, Leo disappeared with Toby onto the terrace, and David heard only the occasional word or comment float in through the open doors. Kate had taken Abbey and CJ on a promised tour of the house, while Sam and Josh walked down to the ocean.

"May I offer you a brandy, Governor?" David had asked.

"Thank you."

By the time they reached the library, they were on a first-name basis. David poured a snifter for each of them and opened the humidor on his desk.

"Cigar?" he asked, noticing four had disappeared. Sam, no doubt.

"Don't tell Abbey."

They shared a quiet moment, savoring the brandy and smoking. It was past midnight, and David realized the man beside him must be exhausted after the day.

Jed tapped the end of his cigar on the ashtray beside him. "Sam is an incredible young man. You and Kate should be very proud of him."

"Thank you, we are."

"Speaking as a father myself, I can guess what you thought when he told you he had joined the campaign of a dark-horse candidate nobody outside New England had ever heard of."

David stretched his legs out and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. "We weren't terribly surprised. Sam's always wanted to be part of something like this, a campaign that matters for a candidate he respects as a man and as a politician. And now after meeting you, I understand his desire to do this that much more."

"I feel a great responsibility for these people. They all gave up so much when they came on board, and I wasn't the easiest person to deal with. Well, let's face it, I was a real horse's ass, but somehow they managed to persevere." He met David's look of surprise with a boyish shrug. "I was scared to death. It wasn't until Illinois that I realized that I can do this. I can be the President of the United States."

"Sam's believed in you from Day One."

Jed shifted in his chair until their eyes met. "I promise you, David, that I will keep an eye on your son. He's a gifted writer, but more than that, he is an idealist, one of the few true idealists I've ever known. I won't let anything harm that or him." He offered his hand. "You have my word."

David shook it solemnly. "And I'll hold you to it."

They had not spoken after that, silently enjoying their brandy and cigars. When Abbey and Kate had appeared, the routine of saying good-bye began. Sam had spent the night at home, but the next day, he had been so eager to return to work.

David sighed and stood up. He had envied Sam that passion, the confidence he had exuded. Now his son appeared defeated by the thing he had cherished. He had not said much on Sunday, but David had watched some of his weariness slip away as they sailed. The water had always been therapeutic for Sam; it lifted him out of himself. When they had docked just before sunset, his face had lost some of the strain he had brought home from Washington, and his smile came a little easier, a little faster.

"David," Carla said from the doorway, "they're waiting for you in the conference room."

David considered for a moment and then decided. "Would you tell them I'm leaving for the day? I'd like to have dinner with my family tonight."

"Of course." She paused and then asked, "That was really the President on the line? He really called?"

He smiled. "Yes, that was really the President. We met when my son was getting him elected."

"Wow..." She shook her head slowly and turned away. "I'll let them know you won't be back in. Good night!"

"Good night," he replied, opening his briefcase and dropped in a couple of files. Grabbing his keys, he hurried to the elevator, waving a hand to the group in the conference room as he passed. Suddenly nothing was more important than spending the night at home.


	26. Chapter 26

Sam shifted in the wicker chair, settling himself more comfortably before propping up his feet on the matching ottoman. He took a sip of coffee and frowned at the sky. Grey and overcast, it showed no sign of brightening despite the assurances of the weatherman.

A gentle hand touched his hair, and he twisted to look up at his mother. "Morning, Mom."

"How long have you been out here?" Kate asked. "Your hair is soaked."

"A little while," Sam hedged, having seen dawn from this chair. "I'm waiting to see if it clears off."

"You can do that from inside. Have you had anything more than that for breakfast?" She nodded toward his coffee mug.

He glanced down at it. "This is enough."

"No, it's not, and you know it, young man! Now, what do you want for breakfast?"

"Mom, I'm _really _not —"

"Good, french toast it is."

Sam waited until she had gone back into the house before he sighed. Did every mother in the world feel it necessary to force-feed their offspring, or was it only his? Since Sunday, he had consumed three meals a day with assorted snacks pressed on him in-between. After the hit-or-miss schedule he had become accustomed to at the White House, he felt as if he barely stood up from one meal before sitting down at the next.

Taking another swallow of coffee, he stared out at the mist-covered Pacific. Later, perhaps, he would go to the beach. He had not gone for a run since arriving home, preferring to take advantage of the early spring weather by sailing each day. After spending the last three hours ruminating on his father's conversation with the President, he could use the mindless exercise running on the sand provided. He had not been home long enough to even walk along its length since before the election.

On the night of the California Primary, Josh had grabbed his arm as they left the table after dinner. "Hey, let's go down to this beach of yours."

Sam had stared at him for a minute before pointing out, "It's after midnight, Josh. There won't be anything to see."

Ignoring the protest, Josh continued pulling him toward the door. "_I must go down to the seas again, __to the lonely sea and the sky._"

"You don't have a tall ship, and I doubt you could find a star to steer her by."

Josh's grin was brilliant. "That's why I'm taking you along."

Sam stopped. "Wait,_ y__ou're_ taking _me_?"

"Yeah, you're my _laughing fellow-rover_." Josh tugged him forward.

"Can I just say that, without me, you won't find the beach, let alone the ocean?"

"C'mon, Sam!" Josh cajoled. "I want to see the Pacific!"

"Okay, give me a second."

As they reached the library, Sam pulled free. Without bothering to turn on the light, he crossed to his father's desk and found the humidor. Opening it, he took out a handful of cigars and stuffed them in his shirt pocket as he rejoined Josh in the hallway.

Using only the light of the crescent moon, they crossed the lawn and started down the hill. Before they had gone halfway, they realized that dress shoes were not best suited to negotiating the steep trail. Neither of them fell, but they slid and stumbled, holding onto the tall grass along the edge of the path to slow their descent. They were breathless and laughing by the time they reached the bottom, happy they were on their feet and still riding the high of winning. Protected from the wind by an outcropping of rocks, they lit two of the cigars.

"What are those for?" Josh asked, pointing at the ones left in Sam's pocket.

"I don't know. Maybe when we get the nomination." He thought for a minute and then decided. "No, they're for Election Night. When we win," he clarified.

Josh smiled, cocking his head to the one side as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "We will, you know. You and me — we're going to work in the White House. And we'll do some great things when we get there."

"There's so much to fix: education, the environment, healthcare..."

"And that's why they'll vote for us in November!" Josh reminded him, excited by the challenges they faced. "All over the United States, people are listening to our message and believing in it!"

Still philosophizing, Josh strode toward the water, his hands gesturing even as his voice was drowned out by the crash of waves. Who was it that had shouted at the sea? _Demosthenes._ Sam smiled, amused he had come up with answer so readily. He leaned against the rocks and savored his cigar, its flavor enhanced by the distinctive scent of the Pacific, the excitement of winning, and the utter joy of being home. Josh was right; they had the momentum, and everything was falling into place. The strategy they had come up with in Manchester had worked: win Illinois and they would run the table. Tonight's primary wins had proven them right. More importantly, the voters had said in no uncertain terms that they was ready for change, ready for something new, and Josiah Bartlet was the man they wanted leading them forward.

Josh walked toward him, his shirt glowing white in the moonlight. Sam fell into step beside him, guiding him toward the road. It would take longer, but it was easier than trying to climb back up the path. They walked in comfortable silence, blowing clouds of cigar smoke into the air.

"I can't wrap my mind around it, Josh. This is going to happen."

Josh grinned, grabbing hold of Sam's shoulder. "And it's because of _us — _you, me, CJ, Toby, Leo. Because we believed, even when the Governor didn't."

"This is the best thing I've ever done, the best thing I can ever hope to do."

Josh's grip tightened. "And the ride is just starting."

They stopped at the end of the driveway, both of them grinning. They had come a long way from that rainy day in Manhattan.

"Josh, we're ready to go," CJ called as she crossed the driveway to their rental.

"Coming," Josh called, his eyes meeting Sam's in the reflected light from the street. "All the way to the White House," he said, his words a promise and a bond between them. He offered his hand, and when Sam took it, he pulled him into a rough hug.

"Just like we planned."

They broke apart, laughing quietly as they walked up the drive. Toby leaned against the car by CJ's open door, watching them. Picking up the overnight bag at his feet, he tossed it to Sam.

"Thanks, I would've forgotten it."

"I think your parents are ready to call it a night," Toby said.

Josh slapped Sam on the back. "I'm going to run in and say thank-you."

"Leo decided to let us sleep in tomorrow," CJ told him. "He's pushing the schedule back so we're not leaving the hotel until 11:00."

Sam yawned. "Sleep sounds incredible right now."

Toby moved around the car to the driver's side. "Spend some time with your parents, Sam. God knows why, but they seem to miss you."

CJ put her hand on Sam's arm. "Don't worry. We won't leave without you."

"Yes, we will!" Toby contradicted her.

Sam laughed. "I'll be there on time," he assured them, closing CJ's door as he heard Josh's footsteps on the path.

Josh opened the rear passenger door. "See you in the morning."

"You bet."

Sam had watched until the car was out of sight before turning toward the house. It had been a day he would never forget, made better by the people around him. The friendships he had forged on the campaign trail only served to emphasize how right a choice he had made with his life.

"Sweetheart, breakfast is ready," Kate said from the doorway. "I lit the fire in the family room so come in and get warm."

Sam pushed himself to his feet, stretching out the stiffness in his back. The agitation that had awoken him before dawn had left him, the need to run was gone. The memory of that night brought back how proud he had been being part of _Bartlet for America_. How excited he had been by what they were doing. Nothing would ever tarnish that.

He glanced up. The sky had not lightened, in fact rain now looked like a distinct possibility. As if to confirm it, a few drops splashed on the flagstones at his feet. Not a bad day to stay inside and catch up with his mom, maybe take her to lunch. As he walked to the door, the smells of cinnamon, bacon and coffee drifted out to him. He had not been hungry a minute before, but now he was famished. Toeing off his sneakers, he padded to the family room where the small table was set for two.

Dropping into a chair, he leaned over the corner of the table and kissed his mother's cheek. "Thank you."

Kate pointed to his overfilled plate. "Eat your breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am!" And picking up his fork, Sam attacked the food with more appetite than he had had in what seemed like months.


	27. Chapter 27

Cutting through Communications on his way back from a meeting in the Roosevelt Room, Josh stopped to watch the activity inside Toby's office. Briefing memos, easily identifiable in their blue covers, and file folders in assorted colors covered the coffee table and most of the couch. Bonnie knelt on the floor, sorting through a pile of bound speeches. Cathy checked each item against a list, occasionally changing its place in what appeared to be some kind of order. Toby worked at his desk, a stack of folders at his elbow.

Margaret appeared beside him. "Toby, here are the security logs. Where do you want them?"

"Give them to Ginger. She's waiting for them."

Margaret walked to Ginger's desk and handed her the logs. She took a step towards her office then turned back. "Look, I'm not really busy this afternoon. Can I help organize this?" she asked.

Bonnie looked up, clearly relieved. "Another set of hands would be great. Toby needs this finished by 5:00."

"What's going on?" Josh asked, edging around Cathy and almost knocking over the stack Bonnie had assembled. "Sorry!"

Toby frowned at him. "We're trying to figure out what Sam worked on for the last four months."

"It can't be all that difficult," Josh said and then realized everyone in the room was glaring at him. "Right? I mean you keep good records and all."

Toby waved his hand at Cathy. "Why don't you bring him up to speed?"

"These —" she said, pointing at two tall stacks on the coffee table, "— are his correspondence and the research for the speeches he wrote." She pointed to a third stack. "That's the research he didn't use or that he sent along to one of the other speechwriters."

Josh blinked. He knew Sam lived for research, but, until this moment, Josh had had no idea how much he actually did.

"The briefing memos there —" Cathy continued, gesturing to a foot-high stack on the far end of the couch, "— are ones he was assigned, along with the corresponding position papers or opposition prep."

"Did you find the summaries?" Toby asked. "'Cause I'm not sure I have copies of all of them."

Bonnie turned from her spot on the floor. "Everything's there. I finished that before lunch."

Josh looked at the pile on one of Toby's guest chairs. Briefing memos, obviously. "And those?"

Toby sighed. "Those are memos he wasn't assigned."

"And?" Josh himself had at least one filing cabinet full of memos on a range of topics that would never gain enough importance to warrant spending any time on them. He picked up the file on top and flipped to the cover sheet. The title was not even vaguely familiar. Obviously, this had not been high on his priority list. Leaning against the windowsill, Josh idly flipped through the pages. Neat handwritten notes filled the margins. Josh looked from the memo to Toby and back. He would have recognized the handwriting anywhere — Sam's.

Josh closed the cover and returned the memo to the pile. "My god, he read all of these?"

"And wrote some damn good position papers for some of them," Toby said, leaning back in his chair. He gestured to the stack of folders on his desk. "I'm going through them now."

Josh was not sure if he wanted to laugh or to cry. Sam — stubborn, tenacious Sam — must have spent hours working on issues that were well outside their legislative portfolio, issues he knew would never see the light of day.

"Whoa!" Cathy cried as a pile started sliding from the couch to the floor. She managed to steady most of the files as Margaret collected the ones that had escaped. Sighing, they began putting them back in order.

"Why?" Josh asked.

"Because no one else was interested, and Sam, being Sam, couldn't stand the idea that something important might be lost."

"And was anything?"

Toby nodded to a small pile on his credenza. "There are a few I'm going to take to Leo and the President. There's one —" He leaned back and picked up two files, handing them to Josh. "— he felt strongly enough about to write both a position paper _and_ the opposition prep. I'll tell you, Sam arguing against himself is an incredible thing to read."

"Where the hell did he find the time?" Josh mused, running his hand through his hair as he scanned the pages.

Margaret looked up. "I took a quick look at the sign-in sheets. In the past two months, Sam stayed late — really, really late — almost every night."

"Why didn't somebody notice?" As he spoke, Josh saw Cathy flick a glance at Bonnie who shook her head slightly. "What?" he demanded.

Cathy frowned and returned her attention to her list. "Nothing."

Exasperated, Josh looked at Toby for help. And then the penny dropped. "You think _I_ should've noticed," he said softly.

Toby frowned and rubbed his forehead. "Both of us should've noticed. Six months ago, we would have."

"But everybody blames me for this, don't they?"

The look Cathy sent him gave him her answer, even as Toby shook his head. "I blame myself. He worked for me, and I didn't care enough to find out what he was doing, _how_ he was doing." As his voice started to rise, Bonnie spoke quietly to the other two assistants and they left the office, closing the door behind them. "I did nothing except tear apart his writing for the last two months. His _writing_! Do you know what that means to someone like Sam? Stabbing him repeatedly would have been kinder." He rubbed his eyes with his palms. "I sat in on his meetings —"

"That was Leo's idea!" Josh reminded him. "He thought Sam was still a little green —"

"I should've refused to do it! I should've told Leo that I had every confidence in Sam and his abilities." Toby slammed his hands down on the arms of his chair. "Even Day One, he wasn't some wet-behind-the ears kid. Why was it suddenly a problem? Sam's one of the most intelligent people in this building! My god, Josh, Mendoza wouldn't have been confirmed without him."

"There's every chance you and Mendoza would've murdered each other if Sam hadn't been there," Josh agreed.

"You know what Crossfield told me? Twenty years in the Senate, and he'd never seen _any_ nominee better prepared. That was Sam. Sam and all his damn research."

Josh dropped into the guest chair that was not piled high with paper, slouching forward and clasping his hands loosely between his knees. "Why didn't we see what was happening? Why didn't we stop it?"

"Because we didn't give a damn."

"I'd give anything to —"

"Turn back the clock? We have to fix this, not wish it didn't happen."

"I, for one, am fully committed to doing both."

The door opened, and CJ poked her head in. "Josh, are we still meeting?"

He glanced at his watch. "Sorry, I didn't realize it was so late. Let me grab a folder from my office, okay?"

"My office in ten minutes?" She looked around Toby's office. "You cleaning?"

"No, we're recreating the life and times of Sam Seaborn."

CJ whistled softly. "Wow. You're taking all of this to your meeting with Leo and the President?"

Toby looked around. "Now that you mention it... Bonnie!"

Bonnie appeared in the doorway behind CJ, her eyebrows raised in question.

"Can you find some of those cart things?"

"Sure, how many do we need?"

Josh cut in before Toby had a chance to answer. "Two — make it two, Bonnie."

"Only two?"

Toby looked at the piles and stacks, and a slow smile started. "He's right. Two will definitely make a statement."

"So will a couple of assistants carrying in the rest of it." Josh grinned, caught up in the mental image.

"You guys do remember that Leo and the President want Sam back as much as we do, right?" CJ asked.

Josh nodded. "Sure, but it's just, well, shocking to see tangible proof of what he was doing. They need to see it, too."

Shaking her head, CJ disappeared down the hall. Josh stood up. "What time's your meeting? Five?"

Toby's eyes were on the file lying open on his desk, his mind already returning to the task at hand. "Yeah."

"I may just come watch."

Josh picked his way across the office, careful not to disturb anything. Toby had returned to his reading, no longer paying any attention to him. In the bullpen, Ginger glared at her computer screen, one finger moving down the page of a security log as she typed numbers into a spreadsheet. Margaret sat on the edge of Cathy's desk, the two of them talking quietly. Josh walked over to them. Cathy met his gaze, her eyes dark and accusing. Josh heard Sam's voice, as he did so often these days. _I told you, she's like my younger sister, but she frightens me._

"Look, Cathy, I'm sor—"

"You promised me you'd get him back, Josh. I'm holding you to that."

"We're working on it, you know we are!" he protested.

She picked up her list, ready to return to Toby's office. "I know, but if Sam doesn't come back, I'm going to blame you."

He nodded, watching her march away followed by Margaret. "So will I."


	28. Chapter 28

_"I haven't made any decisions, Jeff. Right now, I'm exploring some options... Well, that's certainly generous but —"_

Hearing Sam's voice, David paused as he walked into the house. He was home earlier than expected, the result of another canceled conference call. The client, a Greek entrepreneur, had signed the contracts, made the initial payments and then halted work on the project. David was more annoyed than worried. Callahan, Seaborn & Brown had worked with this particular client before under similar circumstances. The man's concept of time was fluid, and until he was ready to move forward, it would be a case of hurry-up and wait.

The door to the library was slightly open, and poking his head in, David saw his son sitting at the desk, jotting notes on a legal pad as he talked.

_"Well, that's good to hear. I'm looking forward to meeting them as well..."_

Realizing he was eavesdropping on a conversation Sam might prefer to keep private, David turned toward the back of the house.

Kate sat on the couch in the family room, working on her crossword puzzle. She set it aside as he came in, returning his kiss, and pulling him down beside her.

"Sam still on the phone?" she asked.

"Yeah, but it sounded like he was wrapping up."

"Good, it's been almost an hour. Are you two still planning to go sailing?"

David wrapped his arms around her. "We've got plenty of time. Stavros canceled again, so I headed out early and ran a couple of errands."

"I've packed the little cooler, so make sure you take it with you. I'll have dinner ready when you get home."

"I wish you'd come along."

Kate shook her head. "David, try to get Sam to talk. He needs to vent."

"I'll do my best."

"Good, now go upstairs and change so you're ready when he gets off the phone."

"Yes, ma'am!" Laughing, he kissed her and then rose to his feet. He started for the stairs and then detoured, thinking he should tell his son he was home.

As he reached the door of the library, he realized that Sam was off the phone and staring at the notes he had made. After a minute, he dropped the pad onto the polished wood desk and sighed. Leaning back in the chair, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

David knocked on the door, pushing it open. "Everything all right?"

Sam looked up, startled. "You're home? I can be ready to go in a couple of minutes."

"I've still got to change so there's no need for you to rush."

He turned to go, thinking Sam was a step behind him. Instead, he heard his son's quiet question.

"Dad, why was this so much easier in Washington?"

"What's that?"

Sam waved at the pad. "This. I finally called Jeff Malloy this afternoon. He's a partner in one of the top environmental firms in Washington. They've pretty much offered me _carte blanche_ — I'd handle only the cases I want."

David sat down in the leather armchair across from his son. "And?"

Sam ran his hands through his hair. "When I was in Washington, I was absolutely certain it was the right choice for me. Now that I'm here, I'm not so sure. I keep thinking about other things I'm interested in, and…" His voice trailed off, and he shrugged.

"Maybe you're not ready to make a decision."

"I've got to decide on something soon, Dad."

"Why?"

Sam picked up his pen and studied the tip. "Because I can't stay here with you and Mom forever."

"That's ridiculous. You've been here for a week — and you slept through the first two days! Why are you rushing?"

"I, uh…" Sam's eyes met his and darted away.

David waited.

"I've, ah, I've always gone straight from one thing to the next."

"I thought you'd decided to take your time and weigh your options."

"I have!"

"You haven't, Sam! You just said you aren't sure this firm is the right choice for you. Don't take that job just because it _is_ a job. There are a million law firms out there; there's no reason you have to go with the first one that offers. You're a good lawyer with an incredible resume. Once word gets out that you're on the market, a lot of firms are going to come knocking at your door."

"Suppose they don't?" Sam asked. "Suppose this is the only offer I get?"

"That's not going to happen."

"But if it does, I may be squandering my one chance."

"If this firm is serious, they won't withdraw their offer."

Sam stood up and walked to the window. "I don't know what to do, Dad," he admitted, gazing out toward the ocean.

"Give it some time." David paused, weighing his words. "Sam, are you running toward something or away from something else?"

Sam stiffened. "I'm — I'm not running away from anything."

"Are you sure? It hasn't even been two weeks since you resigned."

"It was two weeks yesterday," Sam corrected him softly, "and it was the right thing to do."

David leaned forward, watching the reflection of Sam's face in the glass. "That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

Sam leaned his forehead against the window. "Let's not have this conversation."

"I know you're angry; I know you're upset. But don't you think it's time to get some of it out of your system?"

"Dad, please..."

"You asked me why things were easier in Washington, and I'll tell you. Because there, you didn't have any perspective. All you had was pain. Now you've got some distance, and you don't know what to do with the rest of it."

"The rest of what?" Sam demanded, turning from the window.

"The memories: things that were good, things that you're proud of. You haven't let yourself think about them, let alone mourn them, have you? My god, Sam, you're thirty-six years old, and you helped get a man elected President. You helped another man become this country's first Hispanic Supreme Court Justice."

"I also wrote a birthday greeting for the Assistant Secretary of Transportation," Sam told him, his tone flat and unforgiving. "That one the President and Leo let me handle all by myself."

David blinked. "What?"

"Yeah, they decided to have a little fun with me because I had a date — well, not really a date, she was pretty insistent on that, but we _were_ going out — with Leo's daughter."

"They had you write a birthday card?" David asked, trying to wrap his mind around both Sam's syntax and the idea of the President's speechwriter turning out the White House equivalent of Hallmark Cards.

"Hilarious, isn't it?" He turned back to the window, but not before his father saw the hurt in his eyes. "What makes it even funnier is that it took me four drafts to nail it."

"Four?"

"Yeah, I choked, completely choked on it."

David smiled gently. When Sam had been in high school, he and Kate had often found him asleep at his desk in the middle of the night, having dozed off as he rewrote a paper for the third time. They had become remarkably adept at guiding him to bed without fully waking him. He had always been a gifted writer, but that — for Sam, at least — included the burden of making sure every word, every phrase was perfect.

"Did the President know how many drafts you wrote?"

Sam shook his head. "He didn't bother reading it after the first one."

"And your evening out?"

"Mallory — that's Leo's daughter — ended up going out for coffee with her father. They invited me, but..." Sam's voice trailed off, and he finished the sentence with a shrug.

"You wanted to get the birthday thing right."

Sam glanced over his shoulder, a little embarrassed. "Yeah."

"I wouldn't expect any less from you, son. You do everything with your whole heart, and I thank god you do."

Sitting down on the wide windowsill, Sam crossed his arms at his waist. "I don't know what happened, Dad. I did something wrong, but I still can't figure out what it was."

"What makes you think it was you?"

Sam worried the fringed edge of the carpet with his foot. "It must have been me. What else could it have been?"

"Them."

"_All_ of them? I don't think so." Sam looked up as Kate came in, weighed down with a tray. Jumping to his feet, he took it from her and set it on the desk. On it were cheese, crackers, a hot dip and a variety of crudités.

"I thought you two might like something to eat since it's getting a little late to go out on the boat," she explained.

Sam gave her a hug. "Thanks, Mom."

As she slipped out, David went to the liquor cabinet and poured them each a scotch. He handed one to Sam and clinked his glass against it. "Cheers."

Sam nodded before taking a sip. He walked back to his seat on the windowsill and settled there, studying the glass in his hand. "This is good. Where did you find it?"

_Nice try, son, but we're going to finish this._

"When you called, you said you'd tried to fix things but you hadn't succeeded," David persisted. "What did you do?"

Sam slouched, resting the glass on his thigh. "I tried harder. I read everything I could, I researched, and god knows I wrote, but everything I did just pissed them off more."

"'Them' being who?"

"Josh and Toby for the most part. They took turns shouting me down, except when they were both yelling at the same time." Sam took a swallow of scotch. "Josh tried telling me that it was because everyone was so amazed I had a grasp on things." He snorted. "What a crock! They never listened to a word I said."

"You talked to Josh?" David asked, popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.

"He was waiting when I got home from meeting with the President. He wanted to know why I hadn't talk things over with him."

"And why hadn't you?"

"Because he hadn't listened to me in months. Every time I started saying something, he talked right through me. I gave up trying to have conversations with him and just let him lecture me on whatever we were talking about."

David fought down a rising tide of anger. "Why, Sam? Why did you let him? You've always stood up for yourself."

Sam's answer was too quick, too pat. "Josh has a world-class political mind — Toby too. I've learned a tremendous amount from just being with them. A lot of people would give their right arms to trade places with me."

"You're not a lot of people."

"Believe me, when you spend your days being told in excruciating detail exactly what you've done wrong, you'd give _anything_ to be someone else." Sam rested his head against the window and looked up at the ceiling. "After a while, I forgot what I wanted to do, I just wished the yelling, the lectures, the dismissals — all of it — would end."

"What did you want to do?"

Sam's answer came without hesitation. "Stand on my own two feet and make my own mistakes. Show them that, although I might have joined the campaign on Josh's coat tails, I'd outgrown that. Make them understand there were issues I was interested in pursuing on my own, things I didn't think should be lost."

"Did you say this to anyone — Leo, the President?"

"I tried for days to get some time with the President and was told no. As for Leo…" Sam sighed. "I'm not stupid, Dad, I know how these things work. Josh is his protégé. Leo brought him on board, groomed him throughout the campaign to be his deputy if we won, his successor in the national party no matter what. That's where his allegiance lies. And since the State of the Union, I'm pretty sure he would've happily throttled me on any given day and had the Secret Service bury my body in the Rose Garden."

"Because you dated his daughter?"

"No, because I showed initiative." Sam waved away the question before David formed the words. "I wrote something he didn't want me to, and things went downhill from there."

"And Toby?"

Sam wandered over to the desk and dropped into the chair. He dunked a carrot into the dip and popped it into his mouth, then ate another. David reached for another piece of cheese and waited.

"You've got to understand that we always argued, right from the start. It was part of what worked for us. Sometimes it gave us some perspective on what we were working on, other times it helped us both blow off some steam so we could get to work. But then I realized they weren't discussions anymore, they were full-blown arguments, and I was usually on the losing end. Even when I won, Toby told me to shut up and write. When I finished, he'd rip it to shreds, and I'd do it again." Sam shrugged. "Two weeks ago, I realized I couldn't do it one more time. That's when I resigned."

"And have you spoken to him since?"

"Yeah, he said the same thing Leo did. That they want me back when _I'm_ ready. That the White House is where I should be." Sam lifted his glass to the light, watching it play with the faceted crystal. "I keep going back to that, Dad. If they honestly believe that, why did they work so hard to get rid of me?"

"Sam, I can't honestly tell you. When I talked to Jed —"

"The President," Sam corrected him.

"No, it was Jed Bartlet, not the President, who called me. He said he hadn't realized how much he had come to depend on you. And you've never been one to blow your own horn."

"It's not what a writer does," Sam told him, setting down his glass on the desk.

"Maybe this one should have."

Sam looked at him and then away. After a moment of awkward silence, he asked, "Do you think it would've made a difference?"

"I think it would have made one to you, and that's all I'm concerned with."

Sam nodded and rose to his feet. "I think — I think I'll go out for a while. Please tell Mom not to hold dinner for me."

David nodded, even as his son turned away. A minute later, he heard Sam taking the stairs by twos.

"Well?" Kate asked from the door.

He reached out his hand, and she took it. "He fought, Katie. He was alone, but he kept fighting until he was too tired to fight anymore. The problem now is that he's not sure how to go forward."

"That's why he came home. To figure it out, to find his way. And we'll be here to help him, to listen to him."

Standing up, he pulled Kate into his arms and held her as he looked out at the night. He believed that, hidden deep within Sam's heart, one small brave flame still flickered. It was what remained of Sam's pride in his accomplishments, his excitement at serving both his country and his president. David had seen its light in his son's eyes when he had talked about his desire to fight for the issues that concerned him. Sam might not acknowledge it, might not even recognize it, but it was there, burning defiantly against the darkness.


	29. Chapter 29

CJ curled up on the couch in her office with a stack of reports and a cup of coffee. The door to her office was open, and occasionally she heard the sound of laughter as her staff and a few reporters enjoyed the quiet of late Saturday morning. She looked up at the sound of footsteps.

"Good morning, Mrs. Landingham," she said as the President's secretary appeared in her doorway, looking almost unfamiliar in slacks and a sweater set instead of a suit. "Carol isn't in today. Is there something I can help you with?"

Mrs. Landingham smiled. "No, dear. I came in to finish up a few things and thought I'd take a walk. This week was so busy that I didn't get away from my desk at all."

CJ nodded. "It's nice to get things out of the way before Monday, isn't it?" She put her hand on the pile of reports. "That's what I'm doing."

"CJ, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Has anyone spoken to Sam since he..." She paused. "...went on vacation?"

"Mrs. Landingham —" CJ began.

"Dear, I may not _officially_ know what's happened, but I can guess. I told Josh as much two weeks ago. So, that being said, has anyone spoken to Sam this week?"

"No, we haven't. I had an email from him a few days ago, and he said he'd try to call, but he hasn't yet."

"I see."

"Mrs. Landingham..." CJ's voice trailed off.

"What, dear?"

"You've worked at a boys' school and then the President since, well, forever. You were married and raised two sons."

Mrs. Landingham nodded, seeing where this was going long before CJ finished. "I've been surrounded by men — and boys, for that matter — for most of my life, much like you."

"What do you think? Are we doing the right thing? Letting Sam go, I mean."

Mrs. Landingham clasped her hands together. "I keep thinking about the last time I saw him, the night he dropped off the speech for the President. I know I surprised him, but CJ, that wasn't a Sam I knew. He was worn down to a point where I almost didn't recognize him. I don't think you had a choice. He had to leave." She frowned gently. "In all the years I was Dr. Bartlet's secretary and with all the boys I met, I've never known anyone quite like Sam. Heaven knows he's smart, but he's also passionate about what he believes in, and quick to defend what he feels is right and the people he loves. In the same breath, though, he's gentle and funny, and just a little insecure about himself and his place in the grand scheme of things."

"And?"

"I think he's lost his sense of belonging, and if he finds it by going home..." She shrugged. "So much the better."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then come up with a way to help him. You're all very intelligent people, and you care for him. He knows that down deep. Find a way to bring him back to us without losing himself or his pride."

"Men and their pride," CJ murmured.

"Men and their pride," Mrs. Landingham repeated. "Now I've taken up enough of your time, dear. Have a good weekend."

"Thank you, Mrs. Landingham. You, too."

CJ dropped her head onto the back of the couch. Was she right? Did Sam know how much they all cared for him? And if he didn't, how could they convince him?

"Hey," Danny said, lounging against the doorjamb.

She took off her reading glasses. "What are you doing here? You don't usually come in on the weekend."

"I do if I have notes to type up."

"You've got a Pulitzer, but you don't have a computer at home," CJ said slowly.

"Yeah, it's funny how that works, isn't it?"

"What do you want, Danny?"

He held up his notepad. "Ask me in, CJ."

She weighed it for a moment.

"I'm not kidding. I have some notes you'll be interested in."

"Really?"

"Trust me."

She raised her eyebrows. "If I had a dime for —"

"Good enough," Danny said, dropping into one of the guest chairs and angling it so he faced her.

"All right, what's so interesting?"

"Well, I did some asking around about the guy Sam mentioned —"

CJ shook her head. "We know who he is. His name's Jeff Malloy, and he's —"

"Boasting to certain reporters that he's about to land a White House senior staffer for his firm."

The report CJ had been reading hit the floor. "What?" she demanded.

Danny grinned. "Now do you want to hear the whole story?"

"What whole story?" Josh asked from the doorway, glancing up from the memo he was reading.

"Get in here!" CJ told him.

Josh looked from CJ to Danny and back before dropping onto the arm of the couch.

"I did some research into the law firms handling the big wild-life and environmental groups — Sierra Club, Nature Conservancy, Environmental Defense Fund — and found out there was one firm in Washington doing most of the work."

"Beckman-Casey," Josh supplied.

"Yeah. Anyway, I asked around at the paper about them. Turned out a guy I know had done an article on one of their clients. He made a couple of calls and got me a sit-down with Jeff Malloy."

"But you don't cover environmental issues," CJ cut in.

"Yes, but I do cover the White House and that pretty much gets me in where I want. Anyway, I told Jeff that I was thinking of doing a piece on the Bartlet Administration's record on the environment. He was more than happy to cooperate." Danny looked at them both. "He had plenty to say about what you guys haven't done."

Josh sighed. "Yeah, like that's a surprise."

"But at the end, he mentioned Sam and how they'd gone to Duke together. I asked him if they'd kept in touch. Malloy kinda smiled and said he'd spoken to him recently, and that Sam shared his concerns. I told him I wasn't surprised because I know Sam is interested in the environment. It was like I'd said the magic word. Malloy told me that, while he couldn't say anything on the record, he was reasonably certain Sam would be leaving the White House for the private sector before long."

"So they're talking," CJ said, taking a sip of her now cold coffee. Making a face, she put it down.

"But nothing's set," Josh hurried to add. He looked at Danny. "What's this guy like?"

Danny shrugged. "He's dedicated, I'll give him that."

"No, I mean can you see Sam working with him?"

"Josh, I think Sam can work with just about anybody. Malloy's a little driven, but Sam's got a lot of experience dealing with guys like him."

"Yeah, but would he _enjoy_ it?"

"You think he was enjoying the White House?" Danny countered.

Josh's eyes were steady. "I think he was. Maybe not the last couple of months, but before that, yeah."

Danny nodded. "Well, Beckman-Casey didn't seem like a-laugh-a-minute kind of place. I don't have much experience with law firms, but it hit me as intense. I couldn't see Sam there."

CJ looked at Josh. "You went to Gage Whitney, right? What was that like?"

"Well, I was distracted when I was there the first time and kinda soaked the second, but it was like what Danny's describing — serious people doing serious things. Sam was miserable."

"I wonder if he knows what he'd be getting himself into," CJ mused.

Danny slipped his notepad into his shirt pocket. "I wonder if he cares."

"Josh, there you are!" the President exclaimed from the hall. "I've been looking for you."

"Good morning, Mr. President. What can I do for you?" Josh said as they all rose to their feet.

"Good morning, CJ. Danny, what are you doing here on a Saturday?"

"A little _quid pro quoi_, sir."

The President rocked back and forth, rubbing his hands together. "Really? In what way?"

"He found out some information on Beckman-Casey, sir," Josh supplied.

"The firm that's wooing Sam?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what would you ask in return? Dinner with our fair Press Secretary?"

CJ frowned. "Sir, I —"

The President held up his hand, and she fell silent, seething as Danny grinned at her. "Was this information helpful, Claudia Jean?"

"Yes, sir but —"

"Was it something we didn't know? Something only Danny here could supply?"

"Or any other reporter in a two-block radius," she muttered.

"Danny, have I — or any member of my staff — mentioned how much we appreciate you sitting on this situation with Sam?"

Danny's grin grew wider. "No, sir. Not that I expected thanks, of course."

"But you still went out of your way to find out more?" The President smiled, and CJ felt her heart sink. "Then _quid pro quoi_ it shall be."

"Forgive me, sir, but I don't think you can order me to have dinner with him."

"_Quid pro quoi_, CJ, from the Latin meaning 'something for something'."

"Yes, sir." And once again, CJ remembered why she had dropped Latin after half a semester in high school — she hated it.

"Josh, walk with me," the President ordered, and Josh followed him out. As they disappeared out of sight, the President's voice carried back to them. "Did you know that, during Medieval Times, a king would send one of his most trusted knights to negotiate..."

CJ turned to Danny. "All right, what time?"

"What time?"

"Dinner. What time?"

"Oh, _that_," he said. "Our reservation is for half past eight, so I'll be by to pick you up at eight. Wear something...red. I like you in red."

"Where are we going?"

He leaned close enough to whisper the name of the restaurant. She smiled, catching hold of the front of his jacket and giving him a fast, hard kiss.

"Eight o'clock, then," she whispered back, letting him go. "And, Danny?"

He turned back from the door, raising an eyebrow.

"_Quid pro quoi_."


	30. Chapter 30

Josh braked, checked the directions lying on the seat next to him and then turned right. He had been here only a few times, but oddly enough, only at night. Keeping an eye on the house numbers, he slowed to a stop and looked at his watch. Quarter to six. He turned off the car and then rested his arms on the top of the steering wheel.

The house was big, that much he remembered from other visits. He studied it for a minute, trying to decide what style it was. Modern, definitely, with a touch of something else. Mediterranean, perhaps? Whatever it was, it fit the neighborhood's eclectic mix of styles.

Pulling the key from the ignition, Josh grabbed his sweater from the passenger seat. Glancing at the side mirror, he waited as a Mercedes passed him and turned into a driveway a few houses away. When the street was clear, he got out of the car. He stopped at the foot of the driveway long enough to pull on the sweater. Taking a deep breath, he walked up the short flight of steps to the front door.

He rang the doorbell and braced himself when he heard footsteps approaching. A small cowardly voice in his head whispered _Run away!_, and he was considering it when the door swung open.

David Seaborn looked surprised for an instant, and then recovered. "Josh," he said, offering his hand. "What are you doing so far from home?"

Josh shook hands. "I'm checking in on a couple of Congressional races for the DNC."

David gestured him into the house and closed the door. "I hope one of them is the 46th. O'Dwyer's a clown, Josh."

"And he's facing a conservative Republican who drives a couple million dollars into the DNC's war chest every time he opens his mouth. O'Dwyer winning is bad on so many levels."

"David, who is it?" In the instant it took her to recognize him, Kate's expression went from mild interest to displeasure, almost anger. It was an expression Josh had seen on Sam's face, and it never boded well. "Josh," she said without a trace of warmth.

Fighting the urge to shove his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he forced a smile. In the past, she had always urged him to call her by her first name. Her tone of voice suggested a certain degree of formality might be prudent.

"Mrs. Seaborn, I'm, ah, sorry. I should've called, but I was hoping to see Sam. Is he here?"

She frowned. "Yes, he's out on the terrace."

"May I speak to him?"

Josh looked from Kate to David and back again. There was no mistaking their silent debate — she was strongly in favor of throwing him out on his ear while David supported his request, albeit reluctantly.

"I only want to talk. The last time we spoke..." He glanced down at the floor. "...It didn't go very well, and it was my fault."

David finally nodded. "We're on our way to dinner with a client, and if we don't leave now, we'll be late. You know the way?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. Come on, Kate."

She started to follow him, but paused in the doorway, turning back to look at Josh. "I'm very disappointed in you."

"Yes, ma'am."

As she left, Josh sighed. No one was as disappointed in him as he was with himself. He had handled the situation with Sam badly from the start and then made it worse with his misplaced confidence that Sam would listen to him without argument. When the DNC had asked him to go to California, he had jumped at the chance to try to repair things between them.

He followed the hallway to the back of the house, pausing to look at a framed picture on a wood chest. It was one he knew well, one he had sent to his mother within days of the Inauguration. In response to some requests from the media, CJ had arranged for a White House photographer to take pictures of each member of the senior staff. He had walked into the Roosevelt Room to find Sam sitting on the conference table. He leaned next to him and watched the photographer's assistant fuss over Leo as he stood against the glassed-in bookshelf beside the portrait of Theodore Roosevelt.

Josh looked at his watch and then at Sam. "Exactly how far behind are we? 'Cause I'm half an hour late, and I know you were before me on the schedule."

"If we're lucky, Leo will be done by the time we run for re-election."

"Shut up, both of you," Leo snapped, brushing away the assistant.

As Sam and Josh laughed, the photographer had snapped their picture. When CJ had given them prints, they had both sent them to their mothers.

The photograph still held pride of place in the center of the chest, but someone had placed a small vase of flowers in front of it, neatly obscuring Josh. He moved it to one side, nodding at the two laughing men before following the hall to the back of the house.

As he opened the door, Josh stopped in mid-step as he caught sight of Sam. He knew he was not particularly astute when it came to family resemblances. He had grown up being told how much he looked like his dad, but had only recently started seeing it himself; and he knew he had his mother's eyes. Now, as Sam looked up from his book, it struck him how much Sam resembled both his parents. His features were a masculine version of his mother's but with David's strong jaw and blue eyes. Sam's hair was darker than Kate's, and Josh wondered what color David's had been before it went white.

Sam's expression hardened into the same look of displeasure Kate's had. "You're staring."

"Sorry," he said, crossing the terrace and dropping into a chair. "I was, ah, thinking." At Sam's raised eyebrow, he added, "About genetics."

Sam considered his words for a second before dismissing them with a slight shake of his head. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk."

"Yeah, that went _so_ well last time."

"Can we act like it never happened?"

"And ignore your smug superiority?"

"It'd be nice."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, wouldn't it."

"It's not going to happen, is it?"

"I wouldn't count on it, no."

"I — _we_ need to straighten out some things."

Sam closed his book and tossed it on the table along with his glasses. "We've had that conversation."

"No, _we_ haven't. You might've, but I was too busy being an ass." He waited, but when Sam did not reply, he tried again. "C'mon, Sam! We've been friends for a long time. Give me a chance, okay?"

Sam wavered for a minute before finally nodding. "All right."

Josh took a deep breath, waiting for inspiration to strike. It had been a lot easier talking to the Sam who had taken up residence in his thoughts, that Sam did not look as forbidding as the one sitting across from him now.

"Let's go for a walk," Josh suggested after a moment. "I want to see the ocean."

"You've seen it, remember?"

"It was one o'clock in the morning, Sam! We barely found the beach!"

"You're from Connecticut. You grew up five minutes from the ocean!"

"It was Long Island Sound, and that isn't the same thing! You've got surf and stuff."

Sam stood up. "Fine."

Josh followed him across the lawn, pausing as he looked down the path to the beach. "Wow, this isn't nearly as steep as I remember it."

Sam had already started down, but he turned and glanced at Josh's feet. "At least you're wearing sneakers this time."

"Hey, I wasn't the only one!"

"But it was your idea," Sam returned.

"True." Josh stopped as they reached the bottom. "Wow…"

The sun was a perfect circle of amber as it set into an approaching cloudbank. The clouds gradated from burnt orange at the horizon up to tangerine, slowly fading into hazy strands of pale peach against the blue twilight sky. The ocean reflected the colors, its constant movement mixing and changing them.

"This is fantastic," Josh breathed, "just fantastic."

Sam dropped onto the sand, leaning back on his elbows. Josh sat next to him with his knees up and his arms resting on them. Neither of them spoke, simply enjoying the view. They watched as the sun finally sank below the horizon, and the colors slowly faded into the deep blues and purples of early evening.

"Incredible," Josh finally managed.

Sam nodded as he brushed the sand from his palms. When he started to rise, Josh grabbed his arm.

"Let's talk here, okay?"

Sam shrugged, settling back on the sand.

The words Josh had practiced for days tumbled out. "Look, I treated you like crap for the last couple of months. I said you were wrong when you weren't, and ignored every suggestion, every idea you had. You were right when you accused me of treating you like my stupid little brother. I was condescending and dismissive."

"You told the President I didn't know what I was talking about, Josh!"

Josh blinked. "I did?"

"'Mr. President, what Sam means to say is…' — does that sound familiar?"

"Yeah," Josh breathed, "yeah, it does." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "God, why the hell didn't you call me on it?"

"Because I didn't think it was appropriate to have an argument in the middle of the Oval with the President sitting there." His voice dropped, and he looked away. "I knew I wouldn't win, and pissing you off would only make things worse."

"Since when have you cared about pissing me off? You've argued with me since the day we met, for god's sake!"

"That was —"

"I swear, Sam, if you say 'That was then, this is now', I will hurt you."

Sam visibly changed tack. "Look, you're the most driven person I've ever met. Your desire to be the best, to win is behind everything you do. You wouldn't be Deputy Chief of Staff without it. Hell, I don't know if the President would've won the election without it."

"You're the same way!" Josh protested.

Sam shook his head, his eyes on the ocean. "I thought I was. I honestly thought I could stand toe to toe with anybody and face them down."

"C'mon! I've seen you do it. Remember the meeting with Claypool?"

"That was different."

"How? You didn't give an inch!"

Sam looked at him then. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"No, I really don't," Josh admitted.

"Claypool was after Leo; he had to be dealt with."

"And that's different how?"

"He was one of _them_. That's why I didn't have a problem with him."

"You've faced us down before, me especially."

"Sure, when I thought my opinion mattered. When I thought someone was listening to what I said." Sam jumped to his feet and glared at him in the faint light, his hands fisted at his sides. "I know I'm not the strategist you are, but, damn it! I've done my homework! I'm not all that stupid!"

"I never thought that!"

"Then what was it?"

Josh looked down at the sand, running his fingers through it. "When we went to New Hampshire, it had been, what?, eight years since you worked in politics? You'd never worked on a national campaign, never written for anybody more than a Congressman. But you — being you — jumped into the deep end of the pool without any reservation. You sat in on every meeting you could; you argued with Toby — _Toby_, for god's sake — about language and imagery; and you ended up writing most of the President's stump speech because you understood how he spoke and the things he wanted to say. You were incredible, Sam."

He raised a hand when Sam started to interrupt. "Wait, let me finish. Then we went to the White House, and you — being you, _again_ — never hesitated. You just dove headfirst into everything. And I was so proud of you until..." He took a deep breath. "...Until I realized you were outgrowing the role I'd assigned you. You weren't supposed to come up with your own ideas, your own initiatives, Sam — not for a while. That wasn't part of my plan."

"Your plan," Sam repeated.

"I figured it'd be like the campaign. I'd lead, and you'd follow. But then I realized you weren't following so much any more. You were catching up so fast, I could hear your footsteps behind me." He glanced up at Sam. "When I told you that you blow me away, I wasn't kidding. You've grown so damn much, and it was all your own doing, _your_ hard work. I had nothing to do with it."

Sam dropped down beside him, watching the waves come in. "So you decided to put me in my place — well, in the place you'd assigned me."

"Not consciously." Josh turned, studying Sam in profile. "It wasn't like I woke up one morning and said, 'Sam Seaborn must be stopped'."

"Because you don't talk like a bad science-fiction movie."

And that was so much like _his_ Sam, the snarky Sam who had taken up residence as his conscience, that Josh grinned. "Not for the most part, no. My ego just took over. It was, I don't know, _easier_ to shout you down than to acknowledge what you were saying had merit, that you might have a better idea than I did. And once I started yelling…" He looked down at his hands. "God, Sam, I'm so sorry."

"I wasn't trying to undermine you," Sam said softly, his eyes still on the water.

"I know that. I think I knew it then, too."

"I wanted to… We have such… I —"

Josh patted Sam's shoulder and bit back a smile at the words spilling over each other. "Slow down."

Sam looked at him then, and Josh tried to remember the last time he had seen that intensity of purpose in anyone, including himself. "I wanted to build my own place in this Administration, Josh. I saw the issues facing us, and there were so many that would make a difference in the quality of people's lives, if someone just had time to deal with them. Granted they weren't four-column-inches-above-the-fold type stuff, but they were still important. Those were the things I was interested in, Josh. Those were the things I wanted to handle." He frowned. "I see what you do, Josh. I respect what you do, but I don't want to do it."

"Why didn't you tell me? I would've helped!"

"No, you would've done what you've been doing for the past year. You would've watched over my shoulder and made sure I did things your way."

"Sam, I don't want you to fail!"

"I _want _to fail! Don't you get that? I learn from failure, Josh. It makes me want to work that much harder!"

"You want to fail," Josh repeated slowly.

A smile tugged at the corners of Sam's mouth. "Okay, maybe I could've put that a little better."

"Ya think?"

"What I'm saying is —"

"You want to do things your way," Josh finished. "Yeah, I get it. It doesn't make me want to stop helping you, though. Not in a I-don't-think-you-can-handle-it way, but as one member of Senior Staff to another. Hell, I go to Leo all the time for advice."

"Do you follow any of it?" Sam asked.

Josh grinned, feeling the tension ease that he had carried with him since that last awful conversation with Sam. "Nah, not so you'd notice it."

"You should tell him. I'm sure he'd sleep better knowing he had nothing to do with most of your _faux pas_."

Josh considered that. "It wouldn't be half as much fun, though."

Sam's smile was a flash of white in the coming night. "Maybe for you, but the man deserves a good night's rest." Looking around, he started to rise. "We should go in, it's getting dark."

Josh followed him, but stopped Sam with a hand on his arm as they reached the bottom of the path. "We're okay, then?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think we are."

As they started climbing, Josh felt none of the jubilation he had expected he would. Instead, there was only a sense of peace. After all his blunders, he had not lost Sam, not lost one of the most important friendships in his life.

He caught up with him as they reached the lawn, throwing an arm across his shoulders. "You wanna go get something to eat?"

Sam shook his head. "Not necessary. My mother left dinner for me, and I'll never finish it. You're welcome to stay and eat."

"Your mom cooked? Cool!"

"She's done nothing but cook since I've been home. The leftovers would feed a small army."

Josh remembered the other reason he had come to see Sam. "Hey, did you know that, during Medieval times, a king would send one of his most trusted knights to negotiate the conditions of a siege?"

Sam stopped to pick up his book and glasses. "Yeah, it was called a parley."

Josh's smile grew wider as they walked into the house. _This might be easier than I thought._


	31. Chapter 31

Tapping his pen on the draft of the President's after-dinner remarks he was savaging, Toby looked at the small clock on his desk and sighed. It was after seven, and there was still no word from Josh. He tried not to dwell on what that meant. He had expected a call first thing that morning; a call that, with luck, would begin with Josh jubilantly crowing that he had been right all along. That they should have let him handle Sam from the start. Now, with the hours crawling by, Toby suspected and expected the worst.

"Toby, did you have a chance to look over those remarks?" Jerry asked, careful to remain in the doorway. Most of the Communications staff had taken to doing that since Sam had left.

Toby crossed the room and slapped the pages against his chest. "Yeah, burn these and start over."

"It's ten minutes, Toby! It's not the State of the Union!"

"Well, maybe we should treat it like it is. This isn't the Friars Club, and the President isn't Joey Bishop!"

Jerry flipped through the remarks, his eyes widening when he saw the crossed-out lines and paragraphs. "You said to keep it light."

"There's light, and there's inane. You've come solidly down on the side of inane. I want something better by two o'clock tomorrow." He looked at the nearly empty bullpen. Only Ginger remained at her desk, answering the phone. "Ask Ginger to print out what Sam wrote last year. Don't copy it, just use it as a guide."

"Okay." Jerry tried to look casual. "We — I mean _I_ was, ah, wondering when Sam's gonna be back in the office."

Toby frowned. "When he gets here!"

Ginger looked up. "Toby, I've got Josh on line three."

"Tell him I'll be right with him."

"Sure."

He looked at Jerry who was trying to slip away into the near darkness of the bullpen. "Any questions, I'll be here for another hour or so."

He nodded, and Toby was sure he wouldn't see him again that night. Closing the door, he walked back to his desk. For a minute, he stared at the blinking light on his phone, trying to dredge up some small hope that Josh had good news. With a sigh, he picked up the receiver.

"Josh?"

"Hey, I've been trying to call you, but it's been crazy."

"You saw Sam?"

"Yeah, last night."

"How did it go?"

"We talked —"

"And?"

"We pretty much said what we needed to, you know?"

"No, I don't know!" Toby snapped.

There was a brief silence, and then Josh sighed. "I apologized, okay? I told him I acted like a jackass."

"And?"

"And he agreed. Then we talked."

"How did you leave it?

"I made sure he knows we want him back."

Toby dropped his head into his palm, wondering if Sam had believed Josh. Why would he after the months they had showed him exactly the opposite?

"Toby?"

"Yeah. Did you mention the thing?"

"He said he'd think about it." There was a pause. "That's a good sign, right?"

"I'll take it. How did you leave it?"

"I'm going to give him a call when I get back to Washington. If he agrees, we'll iron out the details then. I'll tell you one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"His mother hates me."

"I don't blame her," Toby returned.

"What? What did I do?"

"Josh, think about it from Kate's perspective. As far as she's concerned, it all comes down to the fact that you're supposed to be Sam's friend —"

"Hey, I'm not the only one. We're _all _his friends!"

"_You're_ the one she knows. She's bound to hold you responsible."

Josh sighed. "I suppose. It was kind of unnerving, though. I thought my mother was the only one who could make me feel that guilty."

"So, how did it go with O'Dwyer?"

As Josh relayed his meeting with the candidate and Joey Lucas, his campaign manager, Toby tilted back in his chair, gazing out into the bullpen. Ginger had put on her coat, but she showed no sign of leaving. She fussed with something on her desk, but her eyes were trained on his office. For a minute, Toby wondered what she was waiting for. He had told her half an hour before that she could leave. Then it came to him. She knew Josh was in California, and it did not take a rocket scientist to figure out what one of his stops would be.

"… So I'm gonna hit the 4th tomorrow and then catch the red-eye home," Josh finished.

"So you'll be in on Thursday?"

"Yup."

"Okay, see you then."

"Hey, could you trans—"

Hanging up the phone, Toby beckoned Ginger in. She crossed the office at a trot.

"Did you need something?" she asked.

"Come in, and close the door, will you?"

She complied. "That was Josh."

He nodded. "He went to see Sam last night."

"And?" Her voice held both hope and trepidation.

"He thinks Sam's mother hates him."

"That's not really a surprise, is it?"

"Not to me, but apparently it was to Josh."

"And Sam?"

"Josh said they talked. He was pretty happy with the outcome."

"And the, ah—" Ginger lowered her voice. "— thing?"

"Sam's thinking about it." He watched the smile light her face. "You'll tell Bonnie and Cathy?"

"I told them I'd call them both at home." She fastened her coat. "Do you need me for anything?"

"No, I'll see you in the morning."

"G'night, Toby."

Leaning back in his chair, he rested his chin on his fist. Josh had accomplished what they had all hoped he would. Toby himself was slightly amazed. The potential for disaster had loomed large, as it always did when they depended on Josh for tact and diplomacy.

"Good evening, Toby," Abbey Bartlet said from the door. "Am I interrupting?"

Toby stood up. "No, ma'am. Come in."

She dropped onto the couch. "Have you heard from Josh?"

"I just hung up with him," he admitted, moving to one of his guest chairs and turning it to face her. "He saw Sam last night."

"And?"

"He said they talked and resolved some issues."

Abbey kicked off her shoes and put her feet on the coffee table. "I wondered if Sam could stay angry with him. They've been friends a long time."

Toby allowed himself a small smile. "Sam is incredibly stubborn when he gets his back up. I think that was the first thing I learned about him when he joined the campaign — well that, and the fact he doesn't use enough punctuation."

"You know, I've thought about the campaign a lot since he resigned. I miss it in a way. We were so fired up, so ready to take on all comers. Now I wonder if we would've tried as hard if we'd known what all this —" She waved a hand. "— was going to be like."

"We would have," Toby said. "We were fighting for a set of ideas that we all believed in. I've been in politics for most of my life, and I've never seen a group of people more committed to getting a candidate elected."

"But all the disappointments we've had..."

"Sometimes it feels like we can't get anything right, but when we do..." Toby stopped, thinking of the moment Mendoza had been confirmed. "That's when I remember why I went into this to begin with."

The two of them sat, listening to the familiar hush that came over the West Wing when the fever of day finally ended. Toby thought of the other silences they had shared, silences that had never been awkward or uncomfortable. They were both prone to shouting when they were angry — and more than once, it had been at each other. It was, perhaps, in those arguments that they found these times of quiet.

"Was that Michael you were 'encouraging' earlier?" Abbey teased.

"Jerry." Toby braced his hands on the arms of the chair, not bothering to question how she knew. There was little Abbey missed. "I never knew how many things Sam handled so I wouldn't have to deal with them. I'll tell you, the number of questions I've answered in the past two weeks is staggering. In addition to everything else he did, he kept an eye on the other writers and stopped them from turning out some of the most abysmal crap I've ever read."

"Do you miss _Sam_?"

Toby sighed. "Yes. He drives me crazy, I drive him crazy, but it works for both of us. I'm telling you, though, when Sam starts spouting trivia at two o'clock in the morning, and you're too tired to walk away..." He shook his head.

Abbey raised an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten who I'm married to? The sheer tonnage of worthless information I've acquired since I met Jed is staggering."

Toby laughed for the first time all day. "I can imagine."

"He goes on these..." She reached for the words. "...Flights of fancy, I think you'd call them. I don't understand them, but after thirty-two years of marriage, I've never grown tired of them. They've led us to some interesting places."

"This being one of them?"

She laughed. "No, that was pure Leo McGarry."

"Thank god for Leo," Toby murmured.

"Jed sees a lot of himself in Sam — the same quick mind; the same imagination. That's why his resignation hit Jed so hard. He can't forgive himself for letting Sam down."

"We're all guilty of that, ma'am, not just the President."

Abbey rested her head on the back of the couch. "How do these things happen, Toby?"

"They happen because we _let_ them. It's as simple as that."

"But we learn from our mistakes," the President said from the doorway, "and we try not to repeat them."

Toby rose to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. "Good evening, sir."

"Leo and I just got off a conference call with Josh. Things went well with Sam, it seems."

"Yes, sir. I spoke to Josh earlier."

The President turned to Abbey who was putting on her shoes. "What would you say to calling Kate Seaborn?"

She looked up at him. "I'd say no."

"Abigail..."

"No, I'm not going to call her and try to justify why the playground bullies beat up her son. She doesn't want to hear it."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Jed, I'm a mother. If some kid picked on one of our girls, the last thing I'd listen to was his mother explaining why he did it. I'd only want a promise he'd never do it again."

"That's what we want you to do!"

"And I will _after_ Sam's agreed to come back."

When he started to protest, Toby interrupted. "She's right, Mr. President."

Putting his hands in his pockets, the President tapped the leg of the coffee table with his foot. "Yeah, I know."

"The ball's in Sam's court," Abbey said gently.

"And what do we do in the meantime?"

"You start out by walking your wife home," she told him, standing up and taking his hand. She smiled at Toby as the President led her out of the office. "You should go home as well, Toby."

"Yes, ma'am. Good night."


	32. Chapter 32

Pulling off his sweatshirt, Sam folded it and put it into the open bag at his feet. As he absently brushed a hand over disheveled hair, he looked around the deck. The sails were down and covered, the ropes neatly coiled, and the gear stowed away. He checked the locker one more time, yanking on the padlock to make sure it was secure.

Grabbing his bag, he groaned as his shoulders protested. He had spent hours out on the water, tacking and jibing against a strong wind. It tugged at him now as he opened a waterproof pocket and pulled out the cell phone his mother had purchased for him. Hitting the only number he had programmed in, he waited while it rang, his eyes watching sea birds dive toward the ocean's choppy surface.

"Hi, Mom! Everything's fine. I'll be home in half an hour," he reported to the answering machine. In all truth, he would home within fifteen minutes and would probably arrive before Kate did.

When she had handed him the cell the first morning he had taken out the Laser Liam Callahan had insisted he borrow, he had almost believed she was kidding. He had sailed alone since he had been a teenager, spending hours out on the water by himself. The combination of exercise, wind and water had always helped him think.

"Mom, this is ridiculous! I know what I'm doing."

Kate held out the phone. "I'll feel much better if you have this with you."

"Mom…"

"Sam, take it. You don't even have to turn it on, but if you need it, you'll have it."

When he did not move, Kate sighed and turned to the bag he had left on the counter. Unzipping a pocket, she tucked it in. "I don't need any more Sam-induced gray hair."

"Me? What did I do?"

She laid a gentle hand against his cheek. "Sam, why on earth would you think your dad and I don't worry about you?"

"Well, for starters, I'm thirty-six years old!"

"You're still our son, and that gives us the right to worry about you as much as we want."

"Mom, I'm fine." He wrapped his arms around her. "And I can't see a single gray hair."

She hugged him, and he smelled the light floral perfume she always wore. "You're a flirt, Sam Seaborn," she scolded as she pulled away. "And don't you think you're going out on that boat without the phone."

Sam laughed and kissed her. "All right, you win. I'll take the damn phone."

The first day it had been a joke to call and assure her he was safely docked and headed home, but soon it had become habit. Otherwise the phone stayed tucked away in its pocket. Now, as he started to turn it off, it rang.

He glanced at the caller ID, surprised it showed neither his parents' number nor his mother's cell. Instead, the screen simply read "Restricted."

As the phone rang a third time, he answered it. "Sam Seaborn."

"Good morning, Mr. Seaborn. This is the Communications Center on Air Force One. I have CJ Cregg for you."

Sam dropped his bag and sat down on the locker. "Thank you."

"Sam!" CJ's voice came clearly over the line.

"Hey, what time was wheels-up?"

"10:30. We were scheduled to leave at nine, but the President, believe it or not, ran late."

"No kidding."

"Yeah, go figure. The Press Corps is entertaining itself, so I figured I'd call you."

"How'd you get this number?"

"I called your parents', and your mom gave it to me. She said to try a couple of times because you don't have the phone on while you're sailing." She paused, and Sam dropped his head. His mother had, no doubt, recruited CJ to her cause. "I don't think that's really smart, Sam."

He sighed. "CJ..."

"Suppose something happened? Suppose you couldn't get to the phone?"

"Then it wouldn't matter if it was on or off, would it?" he pointed out.

"Then it should be in your pocket!"

"Let's not have this conversation, all right? Honestly, if I want to argue about the phone, I'll find my mom."

"But after last fall —"

Sam rubbed his face with his hand. "CJ, I told you what happened. The water was rough, the preventer line snapped, and —"

CJ's voice was hard. "You could have _drowned_, Sam. Your head was bleeding, and you were barely conscious when they pulled you out of the water. When you walked in with that bandage and two black eyes..." She paused. "You scared the hell out of me."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, staring down at the deck.

"Promise me you'll keep the phone turned on and in your pocket. I mean it, Sam."

"All right, I promise."

There was silence between them for a moment, and then Sam could hear someone talking to CJ.

"The President is looking for me," CJ reported. "I've got to go."

"Have a good flight."

"Talk to you soon."

He shut the phone and put it away. Picking up his bag, Sam jumped onto the dock, landing solidly on both feet. He nodded to a few people as he walked to the car. Unlocking the door, he stopped, folding his arms on the roof and resting his chin on them. He loved the quiet of mid-week when the only sounds were the calls of the gulls, the wind and the lap of the ocean against the boats. How many hours had he spent here in high school as he tried to figure out what he wanted to do with his life? Nothing he had dreamt of had come close to the reality.

_A man should learn to sail in all winds_. He had read that proverb when he was fifteen and been struck by it. Copying it out, he had kept it on the bulletin board over his desk — first at home, then Princeton and finally Duke. When the ink had finally faded to the faintest blue, he had tucked the little square of yellowed paper into a book, a reminder of what he wanted and how he wanted to achieve it.

Sam slid into the driver's seat and started the car. Before they had taken office, he had thought himself prepared for the buffeting that was life in the West Wing. Looking back now with the experience of fourteen months and the clarity that distance had provided, he realized he had not been ready, but he had done his best. He had sailed in occasionally treacherous waters against high winds and survived. The question that had crystallized with Josh's visit finally had an answer.

"No regrets," Sam murmured as he pulled out of the parking lot.


	33. Chapter 33

"Despite what you hear, economics is not an exact science — although I'll probably be drummed out of the club for saying so..."

Josh smiled as a ripple of laughter rolled through the auditorium. The President was on a roll, relaxed and accessible. This was the fourth in a series of five town-hall meetings they were doing across the country. Starting in Houston at the beginning of February, each had focused on a different section of the State of the Union. It gave them the opportunity to reiterate key issues, keeping them fresh and in the public eye.

They had all worried that, with the economy the focus of this meeting, the President would slip into lecture mode, but so far, he had avoided the trap. And the crowd? Josh glanced around, nodding to himself. Every seat was filled, and everyone looked engaged. It was the cross section they had hoped for — White, Hispanic, Asian, Black, senior citizens, professionals, working-class families, and even a few college students. The questions had covered everything from Social Security to income tax to government spending. The President had handled each one with finesse, connecting with the audience and driving home his points.

The trip had not been an unqualified success. They had arrived forty-five minutes late for a luncheon with party officials and prominent supporters, and that was only thanks to Colonel Gantry's flight plan and the state police closing parts of both the San Diego and Santa Monica Freeways. The sky had opened up as they walked to the groundbreaking ceremony for an addition to a local hospital, and except for the President, they had all been soaked. The rain had also knocked out the audio equipment, delaying the President's speech for an additional half hour. It had left them barely enough time to return to the hotel and change into dry clothes before getting back in the cars and driving to the auditorium for the town-hall meeting.

Josh rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the tension that had been building there since he had rolled out of bed at four thirty that morning. Once they finished here, they were returning to the hotel. After the day they had endured, they were all grateful that Leo had, for once, persuaded the President to stay overnight and fly home the next day.

Glancing at his watch, Josh turned toward the foyer. Leo glanced up from the TV monitor as he passed.

"Is it time already?"

"Well, in a couple of minutes. I thought I'd, you know, take a walk." Josh nodded toward the stage. "He's doing well."

"I was a little worried at the beginning, but yeah, it's going okay. "

Margaret appeared with a cell phone in her hand. "Toby," she announced. "You wanted him to check in with you."

Josh walked on as Leo took the call. He stepped into the two-story atrium, dazzled by the oversized crystal chandelier after the dim lighting of the auditorium. When his eyes adjusted, he nodded to a few of the Secret Service agents he recognized. Otherwise, the space was empty.

His heels clicked against the marble as he paced along the long row of windows, his hands clasped behind his back. Outside, more agents and the police monitored the crowd that had gathered, keeping them behind the line of sawhorses. A few people held signs, and he smiled, seeing an old "Bartlet for America" placard.

He walked the length of the hall, and then back, his eyes on the scene outside. It never failed to amaze him that people waited patiently for hours just to get a glimpse of the President as he walked to the car. Of course, this president often ignored the dictates of his schedule and stopped to shake hands with a lucky few. He thrived on the contact even as it drove Ron Butterfield crazy.

A town car moved slowly along the drive, stopping at the bottom of the steps. As Josh strode to the front doors, two agents moved forward to intercept the passenger.

"Sam!" he called as he hit the crash bar.

Sam glanced up, smiling when he saw Josh. He waited as one agent checked his name against a list and the other verified his ID. When they were satisfied, he walked up the steps.

Josh met him on the landing. "Here," he said, handing him the pin that would identify him as a member of the President's entourage.

"Thanks," Sam said as he fastened it to his lapel. Dressed in the charcoal-gray suit Josh had brought with him to Los Angeles, he looked every bit a counselor to the President.

"New tie?" Josh inquired as they climbed the steps.

Sam glanced down at the ice-blue tie, smoothing it against his crisp white shirt. "Yeah, my mother hated the one I asked you to bring. This is my dad's."

"Looks good."

"I thought so, too."

"So he's —"

"Never going to see it again," Sam finished, and they both laughed.

"Well, you couldn't afford it on a government salary."

Sam's words were clipped. "Please don't, Josh."

"'Please don't' what?"

"Push."

"I'm not!" he protested. "I'm really not." He sighed as Sam's eyebrows rose. "Okay, maybe I am. Sorry."

Sam nodded as they reached the door. Inside, Josh stepped back as an agent ran a handheld metal detector in an arch around Sam.

"You're fine, Mr. Seaborn," she said.

"Thank you." Sam glanced at one of the monitors as they passed. "He's doing well. I watched part of it at home. You managed to keep Professor Bartlet from making an appearance."

Holding Sam's arm above the elbow, Josh guided him to the doors of the auditorium. "By the skin of our teeth. Yesterday we got a lecture on microeconomics during prep."

"Ow."

"Yeah. CJ insisted he was getting it out of his system, but I was afraid he was just warming up."

Sam nodded. "It's happened before."

"More times than I care to remember."

At the sound of applause, he opened the door. The audience was on its feet, clapping as the President shook hands with the moderator. With one last wave, he disappeared backstage.

Josh pulled Sam down the aisle, weaving in and out of the departing crowd. The agent on the stage door opened it as they approached. Sam slowed as they walked through the wings to the green room.

"I…ah… You know, on second thought, maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"No, it's an excellent idea — which is saying a lot because I didn't think of it."

"We could wait until I get back to Washington," Sam suggested.

Josh stopped then, turning to face his friend. "Nothing is going to happen. I swear we're not planning to kidnap you and transport you across state lines. The President just wants to sit down and talk. No pressure, very low key." He read the doubt in Sam's eyes. "I promise."

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All right."

When they walked in, a photographer was taking pictures of the President with the Mayor of Los Angeles, the City Council, and members of the State Senate. Josh watched his smile warm from politely diplomatic to delighted when he saw Sam.

"Sam, it's good to see you," Leo said, crossing the room. As they shook hands, he looked at Josh. "It's okay, Josh, you can let go of him now."

Josh blinked, realizing he was still gripping Sam's arm. "Yeah, sorry," he murmured, letting go and trying to smooth out the creases he had left in the fine wool.

"Sam!" the President said, joining them as Charlie escorted the visitors to the door. "It's good to see you!"

"I just said that," Leo muttered.

"How have you been? You look well."

"I'm fine, sir."

"CJ tells me you've been sailing, is that right?"

Before Sam could answer, Charlie appeared behind the President. "Hey, Sam," he said, nodding casually. "Ron says we're ready to go, Mr. President."

The President nodded. "Sam, I'd like you to ride with me." Without giving him a chance to answer, he took hold of Sam's upper arm and guided him to the door. Before he was propelled out of the room, Sam shot a quick panicked look over his shoulder at Josh.

"Not two minutes ago, I told him this was going to be very low key," Josh complained to Leo as they followed, "and what's the first thing that happens? The President of the United States takes him hostage."

"Give him a break, Josh. He was worried Sam wouldn't show up."

"Not show up? This is _Sam_, for God's sake, Leo. If he says he'll be there, he'll be there!"

"The President knows that, but it still didn't keep him from worrying."

When they walked outside, the sounds of cheers and applause filled the spring night. President Bartlet waved, keeping Sam with him as he worked the rope line, enthusiastically shaking outstretched hands. His face lit up when he saw the "Bartlet for America" sign. Taking the proffered magic marker, he scribbled his signature on it.

"C'mon," Leo said, walking to the President's limousine. "He wants us to go with them."

Josh breathed a sigh of relief as he climbed in. CJ was babysitting the press until they returned to the hotel, but she had ordered him to stay close to Sam.

"Don't screw this up, Josh," she had hissed as they arrived at the venue.

"How could I _possibly _screw this up?" he demanded, lowering his voice when a few people glanced over at them.

"I can think of several ways, and it scares the hell out of me that you can't." She pulled him to the side. "Look, all you have to do is be supportive."

"Hey, I'm supportive!"

She stared at him until Josh wilted. "I'll do my best," he muttered.

"That's all we can hope for," she told him as Carol came up with a question. When she had answered it, she returned her attention to Josh. "I'm not kidding, bucko. We're all counting on you."

"No pressure, huh?" he had murmured as she headed off for the area set aside for the press.

When he followed the President into the limousine, Sam looked none the worse for wear, and Josh crossed off that worry from his list. There was one less thing to explain to CJ who had, without a doubt, noticed the President appropriating Sam.

"That went well, sir," Leo said as the car moved forward.

"You know, just once I wish you'd say it as if it weren't a surprise. As if you weren't expecting something to go wrong," the President complained. "When have we ever had a town-hall meeting bomb?"

Sam and Josh shared a look and immediately turned their attention to the passing scenery as Leo answered, "San Antonio."

"That was two years ago, Leo. I'm sure the statute of limitations is up. Besides, those people were adversarial and weren't going to vote for us anyway." The President turned his attention to Sam. "What did you think, Sam? Did you see any of it?"

"Some of it, sir. I thought your answers were right on point."

"I was thinking —"

Leo groaned, "Oh god, here we go."

With a glare for his Chief of Staff, the President repeated, "I was thinking we should do one of these every month or so. It would give us the chance to get our message out to the people we actually care about, instead of Congress."

"We still have one to go in Virginia. Why don't we sit down afterwards and evaluate that idea?" Leo suggested.

"Is that your way of saying, "No, Mr. President", Leo?"

"No, Mr. President."

There was a moment of silence before the President laughed. The other three men joined in, and the conversation returned to the meeting. They were still talking when they reached the hotel.


	34. Chapter 34

As they crossed the hotel lobby at a pace that was just short of a jog, Sam felt his nerves kick in again. The President strode along beside him, grasping his shoulder as he had since they stepped out of the limousine. Even as he smiled and waved to the hotel staff and guests who had gathered to see him arrive, his hold did not loosen. Josh and Leo followed with Charlie a step behind them. A phalanx of Secret Service agents encircled them as they hurried toward the waiting elevator.

As the door closed and the elevator began rising, the President checked his watch. Sam resisted the temptation to do the same thing. He knew it was no later than nine, but it seemed like hours had passed since the car had picked him up.

"Look, I've got a call I have to take when we get upstairs. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes, and then we'll sit down together, all right?"

"Of course, sir."

The President turned to Josh who was leaning against the wall of the car. "You'll keep him company?"

Josh straightened. "Yes, sir."

When the elevator doors opened, they stepped into the formal living room of the penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a stunning view of Los Angeles, now a sea of blue-white lights in the darkness. The President and Leo disappeared into the study, and Charlie closed the doors. Sam walked to the windows, trying to put space between Josh and himself. Between the President, Josh and the Secret Service, he was getting a little claustrophobic.

"Where's Toby?" he asked, looking down at the street.

"Home, minding the store," Josh said, dropping onto one of the couches and loosening his tie.

He turned at that, surprised. "Who's here from Communications?"

Josh smiled and pointed a finger at him.

"I'm not—"

"Sam!" CJ said, stepping off the elevator. She crossed the room and gave him a hard hug. "You look good, _mi amor_," she said, her voice gentle as she stepped back and looked him up and down. "Rested and relaxed, but with just a touch of that deer-in-the-headlights look that says you've spent some quality time with the President." Her eyes met his. "You're all right?"

"Better than the last time I saw you," he confirmed.

"Where's the President?"

"Phone call, international crisis, you know the drill," Josh told her, stretching his arms out along the top of the couch. "I'm keeping an eye on Sam until he gets back."

"_You're _keeping an eye on Sam."

"You know, so he don't make a break for it," Josh said. He grinned at Sam. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy seeing the Secret Service tackle you in the lobby."

"He would never —" CJ started to protest, and Sam felt his color rise as she turned to him, incredulous. "You're not having cold feet!"

"Only for a second," Sam and Josh explained in unison.

She smiled. "It's been a long time since you two did that."

"Did what?" they chorused and then looked at each other.

"Okay, that's gotta stop," Sam said.

"Yeah, that was weird," Josh agreed. "CJ, Sam was wondering where Toby is."

"Nobody was there from Communications?" Sam asked.

"Well, I wouldn't say _nobody_, Sam. _I_ was there and Carol —"

"I meant from the writing staff," he interrupted.

"You were there," CJ told him.

"First of all, I don't work at the White House anymore. Secondly, I wasn't exactly _there_, was I? I mean I was at the meeting for, you know, like two minutes at the end. I did watch some of it on TV, but I didn't do any of the prep. And speaking of which, who came up with that answer on the OMB restructuring the…"

His voice trailed off, seeing CJ look at Josh, one eyebrow slightly raised. Sam watched as they had a silent conversation — about him, he was sure, but the finer points escaped him. A few weeks away from the White House, and he was no longer fluent in reading subtext.

"What?" he demanded.

CJ kissed his cheek and then wiped away the lipstick smudge with her thumb. "It's good to see you, Sam."

They turned as the study door opened, and Charlie came out.

"Sam, he's ready for you."

Fighting for a semblance of calm, Sam followed him to the study. Charlie waved him in and then quietly shut the door. The room was wood-paneled with a small conference table and chairs to the right where Leo sat, reviewing and signing a stack of letters. The President led Sam to a pair of club chairs across the room. He had shed his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. Sitting in the chair the President indicated, Sam's eyes went to the small side table that stood between their chairs. A small stack of blue and red folders sat in the center.

Leo signed one of the letters and put it aside. "Sam, nothing's changed since we talked."

The President looked at him in surprise. "You've talked?" he demanded. "I don't recall you mentioning that, Leo."

His Chief of Staff rolled his eyes. "Sir, I think we can agree that there are many things I don't mentioned."

"But, for the purposes of this discussion —"

"For the purposes of this discussion, I'm just a guy sitting in a chair, doing some work."

The President looked from Leo to Sam and back. "This conversation — was it _after_ your mandate?"

"That would depend on which mandate you're referring to, Mr. President. Not that it matters since I seem to recall you ignoring most of them."

"I used my best judgment — which, may I remind you, is one of many reasons people voted me into office."

"And I'm just a guy sitting in a chair," Leo said, returning his attention to the papers in front of him.

The President glared at him before turning to Sam. "A few weeks ago, I asked Toby to put together what you've been working on for the last couple of months. What he found shocked us." The President shook his head. "I'm ashamed to say that I didn't have the slightest idea of how much you handled, Sam. I'm grateful for all of it. I'm grateful that you chose to serve at the pleasure of this President."

"Thank you, sir."

The President put his hand on the folders. "These, though... Well, they absolutely stunned us."

Sam realized what those folders contained — position papers and opposition prep. When he had written them, he had been determined to do his best by them. And, as he finished each one, he had consigned it to the bottom drawer of his credenza, certain no one would ever read them.

"We were stunned by your passion and eloquence on issues none of us had paid the least bit of attention. Toby reviewed the security logs, so we know the number of hours you spent researching and writing." The President shook his head. "My god, you felt so strongly, yet you never said a word. Didn't you think any of us would want to hear your thoughts?"

Sam shook his head. "No, Mr. President, I didn't."

"Sam..."

"For months, all I heard was how important it was that we stick to the agenda, how we couldn't waste time on anything else, anything _inconsequential_." Sam knew his voice was getting louder with each word, but he could not control it. The disappointment and frustration were all but choking him. "It didn't matter that important ideas were getting lost. It didn't matter that we were losing the support of our friends. All that mattered was the agenda!" He drew a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to raise my voice."

"Don't apologize. It's time and more you said it."

Sam shook his head, trying to regain some level of detachment. Since he had come home, he had tried so hard to put it all behind him. The hours he had spent sailing had been filled with shouted diatribes, his angry words carried away by the wind. This morning he had been convinced that he had succeeded, that he would be able to meet the President and not lose his temper. Now he gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that his hands ached. Slowly, he forced himself to loosen his hold.

The President stood and poured two glasses of water from the carafe on the table, allowing him a moment to regain his composure. When he resumed his seat, he handed one of the glasses to Sam who took a swallow before setting it aside.

"Sam, I've only read a few of these, but Leo's read them all, and so have Toby and Josh. They agree with you. Things _are_ getting lost, things that shouldn't be; and you were the only one who realized it. And you were the one we chose to shout down or ignore."

Steepling his fingers, the President rested them against his lips for a moment before continuing. "When you first resigned, I told Abbey that I didn't want to lose your words, that there was plenty of time for you to have your own voice. I realize now that I want your words, but I _need_ your voice. You are the only one who refuses to let go of what we planned to do when we took office, the only one determined to stick by the things we campaigned on. We abandoned our course, and we need your conscience to guide us back."

"I don't think I'm the best choice for that," Sam began.

"You might not realize it, but you are not only the best choice, but the only choice. And as much as I'd like to drag you back to Washington with us tomorrow, I know there are other opportunities available to you." He paused and took a drink of water. "Sam, we've done our homework. We know how interested Beckman-Casey is in you."

Sam blinked. The information channels available to the White House never ceased to amaze him.

"I'm told they're in the forefront of environmental law — is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

The President leaned forward. "Then I want you to consider this: as the President's senior advisor on the environment, you would directly impact the White House's position on environmental legislation."

"Sir, I — ah..."

The President raised his hand. "Sit down with Beckman-Casey. Listen to what they have to offer you. You owe yourself that. But I want you to consider what we're offering you as well — the opportunity to shape policy on a national level. Think about it, and then come and talk to me — to us. Will you do that?"

The President rose to his feet, and Sam stood up. "Yes, sir."

Taking Sam's hand between both of his, the President spoke so softly that Sam barely heard the words. "Come back to us, Sam. We need you."


	35. Chapter 35

At half past twelve, David turned into the driveway and pulled into the garage. Picking up his briefcase, he looked at it and then put it back on the passenger seat. Why bother taking it into the house? He was going straight to bed. He would not need it tonight... well, this morning really.

The door squeaked as it closed, something he only noticed when he came in after midnight. He made _another_ mental note to oil the hinges. Maybe one of these days, he would remember to do it when the sun was up.

As he walked down the center hall, David realized there was a light on in the kitchen. Rounding the corner, he stopped. Sam stood in front of the open refrigerator, staring at the milk carton in his hand.

David watched him for a moment, giving Sam the chance to realize he was there. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Checking the calcium content?"

Sam started, nearly dropping the carton. "Dad! I didn't hear you come in."

David took plates out of the cabinet and cut them both pieces of the chocolate cake Kate had made the previous day. "Pour me a glass, would you?"

Sam filled two glasses and carried them to the table. Dropping onto a chair, he rolled up his cuffs and loosened his tie — a tie David realized looked very familiar.

Joining Sam at the table, David handed him one of the plates and dropped into the chair across from him. "How was your meeting?"

Sam picked up his glass. "I just got home. I stayed and had supper with Josh and CJ."

"Not Toby?"

"He's in Washington." He took a swallow of milk. "Leo promised Margaret a trip to California to make up for the fundraiser she missed when we came out a couple of months ago, so Toby stayed behind this time to mind the store."

David swallowed a mouthful of cake. Kate rarely baked, but when she did, the results were incredible. Having Sam at home had given her cause to make some of his favorite desserts. He wondered if he could convince her to send care packages when Sam returned to Washington, as she had when he was at Princeton and Duke. David had always reaped the benefits, eating whatever did not fit in the box.

"What are you two doing?" Kate asked from the doorway.

David almost laughed at the guilt that flashed across his son's face. "We're eating cake at midnight. Care to join us, darling?" he inquired, already getting to his feet.

She smiled and yawned. "Just a small piece."

He cut a slice and poured a glass of milk, carrying them back to the table as she sat down beside Sam. She looked at her son, obviously gauging his mood.

"How did it go, dear?"

"Fine," Sam said slowly, drawing out the word into almost a sigh. He looked up when neither of his parents spoke, realizing he would not get away with just that as an answer. "I met with the President for, I don't know, ten or fifteen minutes."

"Just the President?" David inquired.

"Well, Leo was there, but he wasn't part of the conversation." Sam's mouth quirked up slightly. "He said that nothing had changed since the last time we talked."

Kate glanced at David. "I don't remember you mentioning that you had spoken to Leo."

"He called the afternoon before I left. He said to take my time, that the White House would still be there when I was ready to come back."

"And if you don't go back?" she asked.

Sam took a sip of milk. "He offered to write a recommendation for me."

"That would be worth having," David murmured. "A recommendation from the White House Chief of Staff would go a long way."

Sam nodded. "He didn't tell the President what we talked about, though. That surprised me."

Kate put her hand on his arm. "I think he wanted to keep that between the two of you, sweetheart."

"But... it's just that... I thought..." Sam paused, frowning as he tried to organize his thoughts; and his father remembered the young boy who had done the same thing.

Kate squeezed his arm and then returned her attention to her dessert. She glanced at David, and they shared a smile. This was Sam — _their_ Sam — his face alive with ideas and feelings as he worried over the perfect words to voice them. The small brave flame David had seen in his son a week ago burned a bit brighter tonight.

"Leo said that he doesn't tell the President everything — which I understand. He tries to keep the unimportant stuff out of the Oval." Sam speared another forkful of cake, studying the whirl of buttercream frosting on the top. "He and the President attack things so differently," he mused. "It's what makes them such a good team."

David pushed away his empty plate and leaned back in his chair.

"I've been thinking a lot about the campaign," Sam confessed quietly. "We all came in with different talents, but we gelled as a team. Part of it was Leo — he was so determined, so sure we could do win. There were moments he was the only one who believed, but it didn't stop him. The rest of us, though… We had no time to figure out what we _should_ be doing, we just had to do it. Josh said it was like being dropped blindfolded into the middle of the freeway at rush hour." He smiled. "But I learned so much, everybody did."

"And you won," Kate said quietly.

"And we won."

"I watched that campaign, sweetheart, not only because you were such an integral part of it, but because I'd never seen anything like it. What's that saying about something of the parts being greater than...something else?"

"_The whole is greater than the sum of the parts_," Sam supplied.

"That's right. You said that Leo and the President attack things differently. I think that was true of every one of you, and it was because of those differences that you won. They meshed into something greater than the six of you."

Sam studied the cake left on the plate in front of him. After a moment, he looked from Kate to David. "I think it's time I go back to Washington. I've talked to the President. I owe Beckman-Casey the same courtesy."

David nodded. He had expected this. "I'd like to take the boat out once more while you're here. Maybe convince your mother to come along this time."

"I was thinking of leaving on Monday or Tuesday, if that's possible."

"I'll have Carla call in the morning," David said, getting to his feet. "And speaking of morning, it's coming fast so I think I'll say good night."

"I'm going to stay up for a little while," Sam told him. "I'll take care of the dishes."

Kate kissed his cheek and tousled his hair, a gesture Sam had not allowed without protest since he had turned ten. Tonight, though, he caught her hand and gently kissed it.

"Good night, Mom."

"Sleep well, dear."

David wrapped his arm around his wife's waist as they climbed the stairs. "He's doing the right thing, Kate. He's ready to go back."

"Back to Washington or back to the White House?"

"I don't know, and I'm not sure Sam does either." He looked at her. "Would you object if he chose the White House?"

"I don't know. I want him to be happy, and if that's what he chooses…"

David kissed her. "I won't tell you not to worry."

"Thank you," Kate whispered, leaning into him, and he rested his cheek on her soft hair.

"He's ready. He needs to go back."

"I know. I saw his face; I heard the excitement in his voice. He has his feet under him again, and we have to let him go."

David held her tighter. "All we can do now is be there for him."

"Same as always."

"Same as always."


	36. Chapter 36

"...Big Sky National Park, Sam. Your president's single environmental achievement since taking office sixteen months ago."

Sam met Liz Hannaford's piercing dark eyes over the expanse of her paper-covered desk and tried not to think of the law school professor she reminded him of. He knew Liz's resemblance to a woman he had detested was unfairly affecting his opinion of her. "First of all, Liz, he's not just _my_ president, he's yours, too. And secondly, what did the last guy achieve during his _eight years_ in office?"

"Lassiter didn't pretend to be an environmentalist!" she shot back, pushing a lock of red hair out of her eyes. "God knows we're going to be fighting his legacy for the next twenty years. What I'm saying is that, for someone who had a detailed environmental plank in his platform, Bartlet should be doing a hell of a lot more."

"I don't disagree," Sam returned evenly.

She blinked. "You don't."

"That's one of the reasons I was interested when Jeff called. Other things have taken precedence over the issues the President campaigned on. As far as I'm concerned, the environment is a big part of that."

Leaning back in her chair, Liz took off her glasses and dropped them on her desk. "Although preventing strip-mining in Montana is not a bad thing," she allowed.

Sam nodded although he had been the one counseling the President to accept the land-use rider two Republican Congressman had attached to the Banking Reform Bill, believing the bill was too important to sacrifice. Josh and Toby had both recommended the President veto his own bill. _This isn't about the environment. It's about retribution._ In the end, Josh had come up with the Antiquities Act and circumvented the rider. It had not been a brave or noble attempt to save that land. It had been politics and the message they wanted to send to Congress.

"Sam, tell me. Other than yourself, who has the President's ear on the environment?"

_It's 'you', not 'yourself'! _Sam could hear Toby snarl, and he bit back a smile. He shifted in the chair, easing the growing ache in his back. The furniture was handsome, no doubt eco-friendly, and uncomfortable.

"The Secretary of the Interior."

She waved off his answer. "I meant who on the senior staff. For example, who thought of using the Antiquities Act? You?"

_No, I was writing a birthday message. _"That was Josh Lyman."

Liz leaned back in her chair, running a pen between her fingers. Her nails were broken and unpolished, her cuticles torn. _My God_,_ Sam, did she claw her way out of a grave? _CJ's voice crept into his thoughts, and once again Sam found himself trying not to smile.

"Lyman, huh? That surprises me."

Sam raised his eyebrows in polite interest. "Why is that?"

"He's not known for having much interest in environmental issues. I didn't think they had high enough profiles for him."

"Josh and the President have spent hours discussing national parks," Sam told her. He was always the first one to contradict Josh when he referred to himself as outdoorsy, but something about Liz was egging him on. And, he reasoned, it was not a lie. The President routinely tortured Josh with his encyclopedic knowledge of all fifty-four — now fifty-five — parks.

As she jotted a note on a legal pad, there was a light knock on the door of her office. Jeff Malloy poked his head in.

"Liz, are you almost done? Michael's ready for him." he asked, running a hand over his wild blond hair before straightening his tie. Although he was a partner in a major Washington law firm, he still looked more like the mad scientist Sam had mistaken him for at Duke.

She looked at Sam. "I'm done — unless you have some questions for me?"

He stood up and shook hands with her. "Thank you for sitting down with me. I appreciate it."

She handed him her business card. "Feel free to call me."

"Thank you." He followed Jeff down the hall.

"How was it? Liz can be a little intense at times."

Sam shot him a look. "'At times'?"

"Okay, _all _the time."

"She reminded me of Professor Corbin," Sam confessed.

Jeff stopped walking. "Oh my god, she could be her sister! How did I not put that together?"

"I don't know how you could miss it."

Jeff grinned. "You still haven't forgiven Corbin for that B+ in Labor Relations, have you?"

"Is this the young man we're luring away from the White House?" a man with a shock of thick white hair asked as he stepped off the elevator, aided by a cane.

"Michael, we were just on our way upstairs," Jeff said. "This is Sam Seaborn."

Sam took the hand Michael Casey extended. His handshake was firm, his gaze direct.

"How do you do, sir?"

"I'm very well." He dismissed Jeff with a nod. "Walk with me. I want to show you something," he said, leading Sam past the open staircase.

After the hum of the West Wing, Sam had almost forgotten the hush inherent to the law firms. The ever-present drone of televisions and the sounds of too many people crowded into too little space were absent here. Instead, the sound of water in the lobby's fountain carried up the three-story atrium. A phone rang nearby, the sound muted. He nodded at the administrative assistant who walked by, her arms full of folders. She darted a nervous glance at Beckman-Casey's managing partner before smiling slightly.

Sam wondered what his father's evaluation of this repurposed space would be. The building had been a dilapidated factory when Beckman-Casey had purchased it. It had taken almost three years, but now it was a light-filled space with exposed brick walls and polished wood floors Jeff told him had been salvaged from a school in Maryland.

They stopped in front of a darkened office. The wall that fronted the hallway was glass, as were the other offices on this floor. The space was twice the size of his office at Gage Whitney, three times the size of his office in the West Wing. A small conference table sat at one end, a desk at the other with floor-to-ceiling shelves behind it.

"This is your office," Michael said. He pointed farther down the hall with his cane. "There's a cubicle over there for your secretary. You mentioned to Jeff that you'd like to bring yours from the White House, didn't you? No one here has any problem with that."

Sam nodded. In the letter he had sent to Cathy with the bracelet, he had told her that he wanted to continue their working relationship — if she was interested. It had bothered him that she had not responded until CJ had gently told him that Cathy had refused to open the envelope.

Now he wondered how happy she would be here. He thought of the sudden bursts of laughter in the Communications bullpen. On the busiest and most stressful days, Cathy, Ginger and Bonnie had always found something to amuse themselves. And from time to time, he had gotten up from his desk to be part of those moments.

"Sam?"

"This is... this is great," Sam told him. "Thank you."

Michael folded his hands on top of his cane. "It might not carry the prestige of the West Wing, but we're doing important work here as well."

"I'm very aware of that, sir."

Michael led him back to the elevator, and they went up to the third level. The silence here was almost tangible, even the fountain was hushed. They walked slowly toward his office, the only one on this level.

"The partners' dining room," Michael announced, pointing at it with his cane as they passed. "You'll have access to that, and to the library, of course. We use the boardroom mainly when clients come in. I'm a firm believer in bringing them to Washington and introducing them to key players."

"Is that Peter Beckman?" Sam asked as they passed an almost life-size oil painting. It looked strangely formal and out of place.

Michael nodded, but did not stop. "Peter and I started this firm in the early seventies. He realized the importance of environmental law well before most of the larger firms even knew what potential it held. When he died ten years ago, I took over as managing partner, but it's his vision that we follow."

Sam followed him through a glass door into an office with floor-to-ceiling windows. Behind the desk was a woman a little older than his mother. Her hair was neatly, almost severely styled; her posture perfect.

"Sam, this is Evelyn. She's been with the firm since we started. If you need anything, please contact her directly."

Sam smiled and offered his hand. "I'll try not to bother you unnecessarily."

"It's no trouble, Mr. Seaborn."

Michael winked at Sam. "In addition to being my secretary, Evelyn's our resident political junky. You can't pry her away from the television on Sunday morning. I know she must have something to ask you."

"Mr. Casey!" she protested, her face pink with embarrassment. "It wouldn't be appropriate."

"I'll answer any question I can," Sam told her.

"Here's your chance!" Michael teased her.

She looked from him to Sam and back. After another moment's hesitation, she took a deep breath and plunged in. "Why on earth does the White House continue sending Daniel Elliott to debate with Trent? The man is ineffectual."

Sam laughed. "My father asked me the same thing, and I didn't have an answer for him either."

"I think it's time they start sending Josh Lyman again. It's been long enough since that episode with Mary Marsh." She sniffed. "And it's certainly not as if that woman didn't deserve it."

"Josh shares that opinion as well."

Michael laughed and motioned Sam into his office. It was the only one Sam had seen without a glass wall. Late afternoon sunshine poured through the windows behind the oversized desk, and Michael closed wood blinds with a remote.

"I love the light this time of day, but my visitors are blinded by it," he explained as he dropped into his chair.

Sam sat down as well, relieved that this chair was more comfortable than the ones he had encountered in the offices of various partners.

"Sam, let me be blunt. We want you, and we'll do whatever we have to to bring you on board. You're an excellent litigator, and even Jack Gage speaks highly of you and your credentials."

"You spoke to Jack?"

"We've know each other for a long time, and we've certainly faced off enough in court." Michael frowned and tapped the polished surface of the desk with a fingertip. "I called him when Jeff said you might be interested in coming on board. Jack regrets that your tenure at Gage Whitney ended so... abruptly. In fact, he said the door is always open if you want to go back."

"That won't happen."

Michael smiled. "Good! From everything I've found out about you, I wouldn't want one of my lawyers facing you in a courtroom. Jack said your deals were always airtight."

Sam thought of Kensington Oil. He regretted the work he had done to protect the company from litigation. There were still nights when he laid awake thinking about that deal. If he had suggested buying better boats sooner, would anyone have listened to him? He doubted it, and now only time would tell if the oil tankers they had purchased would remain seaworthy.

"Sam, I've done my research. I know all about Kensington."

Sam was not sure if he was relieved or embarrassed. "You do."

"If you can put together something like that, I have no doubt that you can take it apart just as well. It might not be easy, of course, but that's the challenge, isn't it?" Michael leaned back in his chair. "So what do you say? Are you still interested in Beckman-Casey, or have we scared you off despite our best intentions?"

"I'm very interested, sir."

"Then why don't I give you a couple of days to think things over? I'm sure you'll have some more questions. We should sit down together later this week, have some dinner and discuss the cases I'd like to see you handling for us."

Sam, recognizing a dismissal, rose to his feet. "Thank you, sir. I'll be in touch."

Michael shook hands over the desk. "Look, I know Jed Bartlet must have an offer on the table as well. He'd be a fool not to, and that's the last thing I think he is. I want to go on record as saying that, whatever he's promised you, I will better. Just keep that in mind, all right?"

"I will."

With a brief good-bye for Evelyn as he walked through the outer office, Sam headed for the elevator. He leaned against the back wall, trying not to think of anything in particular. He was tired after the hours of interviewing, worn out from pointed questions and the continual discussion of the Administration's environmental policies. He did not disagree with these people, but they did not have the knowledge he did about the factors — political and otherwise — that swirled around every issue. Nothing was black and white in the West Wing, and the shades of grey were staggering.

The air was cool as he walked to his car. Pulling the keys from his pocket, Sam unlocked the door and opened it. He looked back at Beckman-Casey. Late afternoon sunshine reflected off the glass and warmed the old brick. It was a beautiful building in a city full of them, a testament to the firm's belief in reusing existing resources. _But is it where I should be right now?_ Sighing, Sam slid into the driver's seat and started the car. After one more look at the building, he pulled into traffic.


	37. Chapter 37

Toby pressed the buzzer a second time and waited, staring down at the marble floor. He had doubted the wisdom of his decision to come here as he left the White House, but something had urged him on. When he found an empty parking space half a block away, he had taken it as a sign. Now the doubt had returned, and he decided that retreat was in order.

The door to the street opened, and he moved back out of the way. An elderly woman carrying a canvas bag stuffed with books stepped into the small space.

She smiled at him as she chose a key and slid it into the locked door. "Good —" The bottom of the bag ripped, and the books fell to the floor. "Damn it! I knew that was going to happen."

"Here, let me get them for you." Toby dropped to one knee and began collecting the books into a pile. The selection fascinated him: two mysteries, an anthology of World War I poetry, a biography of John Lennon, and the latest book on the Presidential election — a bestseller the _Post_ had called _the handbook on the making of a president_. He almost smiled at the familiar faces looking solemnly out from the cover. He recognized the picture immediately. It had been taken moments before the last debate; the debate they had all known would win or lose the election for them.

"Thank you, Mr. Ziegler."

"May I carry them in for you?" he asked as he rose to his feet.

She smiled, and he saw a glimpse of the vivacious young woman she must have been. He followed her into the building and to the first door.

"Are you visiting Sam?" she asked, unlocking the door.

"I planned to, but I don't think he's home."

She took his arm as he set the books down on a table and led him into the living room. "Then you must stay and have a drink with us."

"I couldn't impose."

"You wouldn't be imposing at all!" she assured him. "I'm Allison Mulligan, by the way."

Toby nodded. "Sam has mentioned you and your sister."

She smiled with delight. "He has? Well, Claire and I adore him."

"I hear that a lot," he mumbled as he looked around the room. He already felt at home among the piles of books and the deep comfortable furniture. The _New York Times_ crossword lay on the coffee table, and a few small logs burned in the fireplace.

"Claire dear, we have company!" Allison called. "Mr. Ziegler —"

"Please, call me Toby."

"Toby, then, we usually have manhattans before dinner. Is that all right, or would you prefer something else?"

"A manhattan is fine."

"I'll just go and roust Claire out of the kitchen." She gestured at the armchair beside the fireplace. "Why don't you sit there? It may be spring, but there's still a chill to the air."

He could not resist a glance at the crossword. His own copy lay neglected on the corner of his desk. Usually he devoted a few minutes to it every morning as he drank his coffee, but lately there had been too many other things taking up his time and attention.

"If you know an answer, please feel free to put it in, Mr. Ziegler," Claire directed as she came through the dining room with a small plate. "I've had an awful time with it this week."

"It's Toby, please."

She set down the plate on the coffee table and offered her hand. "And I'm Claire. Won't you have some cheese and crackers? It's smoked gouda — which is a particular favorite of mine."

"Mine as well."

They sat companionably in front of the fire with Toby looking over the puzzle. Allison joined them carrying a tray with a cocktail shaker and three glasses with maraschino cherries in them. She carefully poured three drinks and handed them around before sitting on the couch.

Toby took a sip and savored the perfect blend of bourbon, vermouth and bitters. The manhattans were... he searched for and discarded several words before deciding on one: potent. This was certainly not what he had expected, and it was a welcome surprise after a busy day in the West Wing.

Half an hour later, he leaned back in his chair, well pleased with the world and his place in it. He was warm and relaxed and enjoying the company of these women who loved talking and debating. They had discussed books they had all read and some Toby had not found the time for. There was a small pile stacked on the table beside his chair that they insisted he take home and read at his leisure. Their combined capacity for knowledge was staggering. Claire had been an English professor, but Allison had not had the chance to follow her sister to college. _It was the Depression. Dad simply didn't have the money to send both of us. When Claire came home, I copied down the titles of all the books she was reading and went to the library_. The lack of a formal degree, though, did not hinder her insight or slow her opinions in the least.

"There's Sam!" Claire announced, climbing to her feet. "He's just in time to join us for dinner."

Toby glanced toward windows that looked out at the street. They afforded a near panoramic view of the neighborhood. Sam had just turned onto the front walk, carrying groceries and an armload of dry-cleaning.

"We haven't seen him since he came home from California," Allison explained as her sister hurried to the door. "I was just saying this morning that we should invite him for dinner this week. Now we'll have you both."

Toby nodded, wondering how Sam would react. He had come here without any sort of plan, merely the vague desire to see Sam for himself. Now he felt a twinge of guilt for showing up unannounced.

"Sam!" Claire said as the foyer door opened. "How are you? Did you have a good trip?"

"Very good. It was great spending some time with my parents."

"We're about to have dinner, dear. Will you join us? I made beef bourguignon, and there's more than enough. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to cook the right amount for just two of us."

"In that case, I'd love to. Just let me take this stuff upstairs, and I'll be right down."

Allison picked up the shaker. "I'll just make a dividend. Give Sam a chance to catch his breath before we have dinner."

By the time Sam knocked on the door, Allison had returned and Claire had set another place at the table. Claire showed him in, and Toby took a quick, fortifying sip of his freshened drink as Allison rose to greet him with a hug.

Sam looked much as CJ had described him — rested and relaxed. He had not shaved, but still looked younger than Toby remembered seeing him, even going back to those first days of the campaign. There was something else, though, something that it took Toby a moment to identify. The confidence that had been sorely lacking for the last few months had returned.

"...picked up some books I dropped," Allison was explaining, "and I convinced him to stay."

Sam's eyebrows rose, but he moved toward Toby with his hand out. "Did you need me for something?" he asked.

"I, ah, stopped by on the spur of the moment. As I was leaving, Allison came in, and well —" Toby shrugged. "— one manhattan led to another."

Sam nodded as he accepted the glass Allison handed him and took a sip. At Allison's urging, he sat beside her on the couch, enjoying his drink and joining what Toby assumed was an ongoing debate about John Steinbeck. He was not sure exactly what the crux of the matter was, but Sam slipped in and out of the conversation with an ease that said he had been part of this discussion before. He himself was content to sit back and listen, offering only the occasional opinion.

Dinner was delicious. The beef and the vegetables were cooked to perfection, and the aroma was incredible. With it, they drank the red wine that Sam had brought downstairs with him.

"Did you bring this back with you?" Toby asked as Sam filled the glasses.

He shook his head. "My dad sent a couple of bottles before Christmas. He and my mom took a trip up to Napa, and this was one of their finds."

"Do they do that often, dear?" Allison asked.

And the conversation turned to Sam's trip home. Setting down his silverware, Toby watched his deputy describe the time he had spent out on the water. Sam's face lit up as he recounted the trip to the Channel Islands he had taken with his father and the days he had spent on the water by himself. Toby smiled, taking quiet pleasure in Sam's vivid language and contagious enthusiasm.

For dessert, Claire served coffee and an apricot tart. After a single bite, Toby swore he would not trade the tart for a slice of pie, any pie. That compliment earned him — and Sam, by extension — a second piece.

It was late when they finally said good night. Toby tucked the small pile of books under his arm and followed Sam out into the hall amidst promises to return soon.

"_Did_ you have a reason for coming tonight?" Sam asked.

"Not really, no."

"Then why —"

"Honestly, Sam, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"Because you're a spontaneous kind of guy." Sam leaned against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "You said you weren't going to try to change my mind, Toby."

"That's not why I'm here."

Sam waited, his head tipped to one side.

Toby gusted a sigh. "Okay, look. I still stand by my promise, but I want to remind you of one thing. We're a good team, Sam. We've had our moments, but overall, there's no one I'd rather work with." He shifted the books and put out his hand. "No one."

Sam shook hands, his expression almost sad. "I haven't made my decision."

Toby nodded. "You'll call when you do?"

"I told the President I would."

"I meant me, Sam. Will you call _me_ when you decide?"

Sam pushed himself away from the wall. "Yes."

"It was, ah, good to see you." Toby turned toward the door, digging in his pocket for his keys. He stopped as he opened the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "You'll call?"

Sam nodded. "I promise." He hesitated. "Toby?"

"Yeah?"

"It was good to see you, too."


	38. Chapter 38

Sam glanced up as he locked the car and walked across the parking lot. The half moon — no, it was definitely a waxing crescent — had turned the sky around it to indigo. The night air held traces of the warm spring day that had just ended along with the ever-present hint of moisture that he had grown used to in Washington. Built on farmers' fields that had been watered by springs, creeks and rivers, the city was rarely dry. Given the tidal fluctuations... _Sam dear, _his mother's voice gently reined in his wandering thoughts, _it's time to focus._

The nerves he had suffered in the car returned twofold. _Deep breaths, dear, deep breaths._ He obeyed and tripped over the curb. Grabbing hold of the wrought iron railing, he silently scolded himself. _How long did you work here? By now, you should be able to negotiate the parking lot without a problem!_

"Evening, Sam," the guard said as he came through the gate. "If you'd just sign in for me?"

"Hey, Frank." Picking up the pen, he wrote his name on the line below the Senate Minority Whip's signature. "I have an —"

"I've already called. Someone will meet you at the door."

"Thank you."

He followed the path to the North Portico, not looking at the West Wing as he passed. If someone was watching for him from the windows of Josh or Toby's office, he had no desire to know. He was already nervous enough. He spared one quick glance at his office, the only one on the first floor with darkened windows.

Charlie was waiting for him at the top of the steps, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief that it was not the First Lady. They shook hands and walked inside.

"The President's in his study," Charlie announced as they climbed the Grand Staircase to the second floor of the Residence.

Sam nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

Charlie stopped and looked at him. "Hey, do you want water or something?"

"No, I'm good." Even to his ears, he sounded hoarse.

"Yeah, I can tell." Putting a hand on his arm, Charlie steered him through the nearest doorway. Leaving Sam in the Treaty Room, he walked into the adjacent bath and returned with a glass of water. "Here."

Sam took a careful sip and then another. When he had emptied the glass, he handed it back to Charlie who grinned at him. "Okay, you were right. Is that you want to hear?"

"That'll do for now. You ready?"

He smoothed his tie and then nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

They walked along the Center Hall to the President's study. As Charlie tapped on the open door, Sam took a deep breath and then let it out slowly.

When they had talked during the afternoon, his father had been more confident than Sam had been about this meeting. "Don't worry, son. You know these people, and they know you."

"Sam's here, Mr. President."

"Send him in, Charlie, send him in."

Charlie nodded at him, and he moved forward on unsteady legs, his nerves all but choking him.

"Sam, it's good to see you," the President said, shaking hands and guiding him to one of the deep leather chairs. "Come and sit down."

"Th-thank you, sir."

The President poured them each a drink. Handing a glass to Sam, he settled in the chair opposite his. "I thought we would talk first and then call Leo and Toby in, if that's all right with you."

"That's fine." Sam set down the glass on the table beside him. He could not swallow now if his life depended on it.

"It seems like a long time since you were here. I imagine you've spoken to Beckman-Casey since you've been back?"

Sam nodded and resisted the urge to loosen the knot of his tie which now seemed capable of strangling him. "I met with them earlier this week."

"Are they aware we also have an offer on the table?"

"Yes, sir." He shrugged. "Well, they assumed you did. I never mentioned it _per se_."

"Sam, when we talked in Los Angeles, I asked you to think about my offer, and then come and see me."

"That's why I'm here." He picked up the drink the President had poured, more to give himself somewhere to focus than because he wanted the sip he managed to choke down. The taste was instantly familiar, the same whiskey they had drunk the last time he had spoken to the President — and the First Lady — in this room.

The President leaned forward, his eyes infinitely kind. "You've made your decision, haven't you."

Sam returned his glass to the table. "Yes, I have, sir." He took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet the President's gaze. "I've weighed everything and talked it over with my parents, and I've decided…" He swallowed hard. "I've decided that working here is what I want — what I _need_ to do."

"You're certain?"

"Absolutely."

A bright, boyish grin lit the President's face, and he jumped to his feet. Sam stood automatically and found himself pulled into a hard hug.

"I can't tell you how pleased I am by this, Sam!"

"Thank you, sir." Sam stepped back. "Sir, there are still things we should discuss."

The President walked to his desk and picked up the phone. Hitting a button, he waited an instant and then said, "Grab Toby and come over, will you?" His eyes flicked to Sam. "Yes, but I'll let him tell you himself."

He sat down and took a swallow from his own glass. "Have you told Beckman-Casey your decision?"

Sam nodded. "I spoke with their managing partner last night. He said he didn't blame me for choosing the White House, and that their offer will be there when I'm ready."

"That won't be for couple of years." The President took a swallow of whiskey. "Sam, I've missed you these past weeks — your integrity, your enthusiasm, your talent. We need you here for those things and so many others. Toby needs his deputy, Josh misses his friend, and I've come to realize how much we all depend on your conscience. That's one of many reasons I want you to spearhead our environmental initiative. We're nowhere near where we wanted to be by this time."

Sam thought of Liz Hannaford's comments about Big Sky. "We're still one national park ahead of the last guys, Mr. President."

The President smiled. "That's true, but I've read your position papers, Sam. You have very clear ideas of what we should be doing. Big Sky was a fluke, and we all know it. I'm looking to you for some substantive contributions."

"Good evening, sir," Leo walked in with Toby a step behind him. He smiled as he crossed the room and shook hands with Sam. "It's good to see you, son."

"Leo," Sam said, before nodding to Toby who stood beside the fireplace.

Toby's voice was quiet, almost stern. "You've decided?"

And Sam was grateful for the bluntness of the question. There would be no dissembling.

"I'm coming back. It was a mistake to resign."

Leo clasped his shoulder, his smile widening into a grin. "That's good news, Sam."

"Thank you," Sam replied, but his attention was still on Toby. His was the response he had most worried over.

Toby shook his head, his dark eyes piercing. "It wasn't a mistake. I don't want you to ever think it was. We had all stopped listening to you. Resigning was the only thing you could do." He waited until Sam slowly nodded. "That being said, don't ever do it again."

Sam blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You come to me, and you yell, Sam. You yell until I listen to you, and if I don't, you yell some more."

"And if he doesn't listen," Leo interrupted, "come to me."

"Or me," the President added. "We lost you once, Sam. We're going to work damn hard to prevent it from happening again, but I want your word that you'll tell us if it does."

Sam looked from Toby to Leo to the President. Each of them wore the same look of resolve and determination. His father's words came back to him: ..._they know you_. The knowledge that was true was almost overwhelming.

"Sam?" the President prodded.

"I will, sir."

"Good. Now that we're all agreed, why don't we sit down and lay out what you'll be doing?"

The President walked to the drinks tray and poured a whiskey for Toby and sparkling water for Leo as Sam sat down, feeling calmer than he had since making his decision to return to the White House. He had, truth be told, missed his life there. And, as tempting as Michael Casey's offer had been, he wanted the opportunity to shape environmental law, not simply defend it. His parents supported his decision, understanding he could always practice law, but a career in the White House had only so much time attached to it. His mother still harbored a few misgivings, and he understood why. He had arrived home exhausted and disheartened, and Kate Seaborn did not forgive or forget easily where her only child was concerned.

"Sam, you with us?" Leo asked.

He looked up to find them watching him. "Yeah, sorry, just thinking."

"About what?"

"My mom's still a little…" Sam paused, searching for a polite term for it.

The President grinned. "Pissed? Yeah, Josh mentioned it. I think she scared him. Abbey understood completely, though. Must be a mother thing."

"I'm sor—"

"Don't apologize, Sam. She has good cause to be upset. With time, she might find it in her heart to forgive us."

"I'm sure she will, sir."

The President lifted his glass. "Welcome back, Sam. We've missed you."

They clinked their glasses together, and each one of them took a sip. Sam smiled to himself as they began discussing his new responsibilities. It was all so familiar and so welcome. He had come full circle, but on his own terms.


	39. Epilogue

When Sam drove in on Monday morning, Josh was waiting for him in the parking lot — and had been for a while if his pacing was any indication. Waving Sam into the spot he had effectively reserved for him, he barely waited until Sam braked before pulling open the door.

"Hey! You ready for this?" he asked, handing Sam the hard pass and ID he had left on his desk what seemed like months before.

Sam looked at the White House and nodded. "Yeah, I am."

Josh clapped him on the shoulder. "Good, let's go."

As they walked through the gate and along the sidewalk to the West Wing, Sam knew he had made the right choice. He could not imagine having this feeling walking into any other building. Josh was quiet, strolling with his hands in his pockets and watching Sam out of the corner of his eye.

In the lobby, Sam signed in at the security desk. "Hey, Mike," he greeted the guard.

"I'll see you at Senior Staff," Josh announced, heading for the Policy bullpen.

Sam stared after him, surprised. He would have bet Josh would not have let him out of his sight until he had been safely delivered to his office. Shrugging, he turned around and saw why Josh had disappeared so abruptly. Cathy stood right behind him, her arms crossed.

_Thanks for the support, Josh._

"Don't you _ever_ do anything that stupid again!" she hissed, greeting him with a hug, a hard punch in the arm and another hug.

"I'm not promising anything." When she did not laugh, he pulled her aside. "I wanted you to work for me wherever I went — or at least, give you the option. It was in the letter I sent you."

"That doesn't change anything. I want to work for you _here._"

He gave her a quick hug before continuing down the hall to Communications. "Then you're in luck because here I am."

"It's a dream come true," she muttered as she followed him.

"I heard th—" Sam stopped in the doorway of the bullpen, gaping at the assembled staffers. It looked as if most of Communications was there. He glanced back over his shoulder, wondering what they were waiting for.

"Welcome back, Sam!" Ginger and Bonnie chorused, and everyone applauded.

Sam felt himself blush. "Th-thanks. It's good to be back."

"And are we glad you're back!" someone called.

"I know you all have somewhere to be right now," Toby announced from the doorway of his office. "If you don't, feel free to stop by and see me."

The staffers disappeared with a speed Sam found astounding. Ginger hugged him as he passed her, and Bonnie kissed his cheek.

"We're really glad you're back," she told him, handing him a cup of coffee.

"Ginger!" Toby yelled from his office.

Ginger picked up the stack of messages from her desk. "Really, _really_ glad," she whispered as she headed in to see Toby.

Sam smiled, taking a sip of coffee as he walked to his office. The door was open, and the lights were on. He put down his briefcase, slightly amazed that everything — the Navy Jack, his Newton's cradle, the Lakers' jersey — was exactly where he had left it. A pile of briefing books sat on the corner of the desk, and he started to open the top one.

"Sam!"

Sam opened his briefcase and grabbed his leather portfolio. Double-checking that he had his glasses and a pen, he took his coffee and walked next door.

Toby stood at his desk, looking down at the newspaper that lay open on it. As he continued scanning the articles, he asked, "You ready for this?"

"I'm ready."

Toby looked up at him then, studying him. Finally, he nodded. Opening his desk drawer, he reached in and withdrew a cell phone and a beeper. "Here."

Sam took them from him, automatically checking the power bars. Both were fully charged. He slid the cell phone into the pocket of his suit jacket and hooked the beeper onto his belt.

"Senior staff in five," Bonnie called.

Toby picked up a couple of folders. "After the meeting, I want to go over the schedule for next couple of weeks."

Sam nodded and followed him out of the office. People welcomed him back as they walked to the Oval Office, and a few asked how he was feeling. Surprised, he stammered an answer and hurried after Toby who had not slowed down.

"The President's just finishing a phone call," Charlie said as they walked in. "I'll tell him you're here."

"Good morning, Mrs. Landingham," Sam said.

She looked up and smiled. "Good morning, Sam. It's good to have you back. Would you like a cookie?" She opened the jar, and he took one.

"Thank you."

"How are your parents, dear? I'm sure they were glad to see you."

"They're both well, although Mom thinks Dad works too hard."

"Sam!" CJ cried as she walked in with Josh two steps behind her. "I'm sorry I missed the welcoming ceremonies."

Sam looked from her to Toby who shrugged. "I didn't think you wanted a big thing the moment you walked in. There is, however, the possibility of cake later on."

"Chocolate," CJ confirmed.

Charlie came out of the Oval. "The President is ready for you."

Sam stayed to the back of the group as they went in. Presidential hugs were becoming all too common, and with each one, he grew a little bit more uncomfortable. He simply wanted to slip back into his place among the senior staff.

The President met him with an outstretched hand. "Sam!"

"Good morning, sir." Sam took his hand and was immediately pulled into a hug. Over the President's shoulder, he saw Leo grin and Josh shake his head. Gently, he detached himself and stepped back.

"I see you've already earned a cookie this morning."

"Yes, sir."

The President looked at the rest of the senior staff. "Anyone else get a cookie, or was it only Sam?"

"Only Sam, Mr. President," Josh reported, sitting down next to CJ.

"That's fine, then. Sam, if you leave that behind, I'll make you an ambassador by the end of the day."

"Sir, I think Sam is happy where he is," Leo interjected.

"And we've worked damn hard to get him there," Toby mumbled.

The President nodded and walked to his desk to pick up his coffee cup and some briefing books. "Let's get started then."

Sam sat down beside Toby and opened his portfolio. Phone calls with Josh and Toby over the weekend had brought him up to date, and Margaret had emailed this morning's agenda. He had forgotten, though, how fast they covered each topic. His head was spinning, and his handwriting was indecipherable by the end of the meeting.

"You're doing great," Josh told him as they walked back to their offices. "You good for lunch today, or are you planning to go to the gym?"

"Lunch is good," Sam answered, nodding to a few people who welcomed him back. "What time?"

"I'm on the Hill until noon or so."

"One o'clock in the Mess?"

"Sounds good."

Donna caught up with them outside the Roosevelt Room. "Sam, welcome back! How are you feeling?"

Perplexed, he glanced at Josh whose expression clearly said _Play along._

"I'm good."

"My younger brother had the same thing, so I know how painful it can be, even without flying." She smiled. "It's really great to have you back. Josh was —" She waved one hand in a weird figure-eight. "— while you were gone."

"Donna, I told you I was concerned! I wasn't —" He mimicked her gesture. "— whatever that means."

"He was," she confided to Sam. "Trust me."

"You coming by later for cake?" Sam asked, hoping to divert them from an argument that could easily last for days.

"You know about that?"

"It may have been mentioned."

"God, you just can't keep a secret around here, can you?" she complained. "Don't tell Cathy you know, okay?"

"I won't."

"Josh, you've got a meeting in your office with Bob Lansdowne in five minutes."

"I'm on my way."

"It's good to have you back, Sam."

"Thanks."

As she hurried away, Sam grabbed Josh's arm and dragged him into the Roosevelt Room.

"What the hell did you tell people?" he demanded. "Everyone keeps asking me how I'm feeling."

Josh smiled weakly and rolled up the folder he was carrying. "We needed a cover story to, you know, cover the fact you weren't here."

"Which was?"

"It wasn't my idea, believe me. I didn't think anybody would buy it, but Toby, CJ and Leo insisted."

"Josh!"

"Well, first you took a personal day, then you worked at home for like a week on policy stuff, and then you went to see your parents."

Sam folded his arms. "And then?"

"Ear infection."

"You mean like an ear ache? God, four of you and you couldn't come up with anything better than that? It sounds like I'm six years old!"

Josh shrugged. "We needed something that meant you couldn't fly. That was what we came up with." He grinned. "But you're fine now."

"That's a relief." Sam sighed. "You couldn't have tried something like, I don't know, a leave of absence?"

"Yeah, like anyone would've believed that!" Josh glanced at his watch. "Look, I've got to get to this meeting. I'll see you at one, right?"

"Yeah." Sam watched him leave, shaking his head.

Ginger poked her head in the door. "Sam, Toby's looking for you."

"On my way."

* * *

By twelve thirty, Sam was immersed in the routine of the West Wing. Toby had handed him the drafts of a number of speeches with the command to either fix them or burn them to the ground and start over. After reviewing them, Sam had set up meetings with a good portion of the speechwriting staff. He had also gone through the briefing books and put aside the important ones.

He dropped his glasses on his desk and rubbed his eyes, trying to remember when he had last been to the optometrist. It might be time to schedule an appointment.

"Hello, Sam. You look well," Abbey Bartlet said, leaning against the doorjamb of his office with her arms crossed.

He jumped to his feet. "Mrs. Bartlet! What can I do for you?"

She came in, shutting the door behind her before sitting down in one of his guest chairs. "I just stopped by to say welcome back..."

Sam sat slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Thank you, ma'am."

"...And to tell you I've spoken to your mother."

Sam blinked. "My mother called you?"

Abbey chuckled softly. "No, no. _I_ called _her_."

_This can't be good._ Sam took a careful breath. "With all due respect, ma'am, why did you do that?"

"Because I promised my husband that, when you came back to work, I'd call and give her my word that we won't let anything happen this time." She watched him for a moment before adding, "And it won't because I'm going to be keeping an eye on things."

_Oh, my god. _"That's not necessary!"

She frowned. "It is — for your mother's peace of mind and for mine. I told Kate that, if I see a hint of something going wrong, I'll step in so fast it will make your head spin."

"At this moment, it wouldn't take much," he muttered.

The First Lady stood up, and he did as well. "Now I'm off to have lunch with my husband." She walked to the door and turned back to face him. "I have my ways of finding out what's going on, Sam. Remember that."

"I don't think I'll be able to forget it, ma'am."

And I'll be by later for a piece of cake."

"Yes, ma'am."

He dropped into his chair, trying to digest this latest bit of news. The idea of Abbey Bartlet and his mother in communication... He shuddered.

"Sam!" Josh interrupted his thoughts. "You ready for lunch? Toby and CJ are waiting for us." He looked at Sam and frowned. "You okay?"

Sam stood up and followed him into the hall. "The First Lady just stopped by."

"Yeah, Cathy told me. You okay? A one-on-one with Abbey Bartlet your first day back." He shook his head. "Wow."

"You got that right. How was the meeting with Lansdowne?"

As Josh began recounting his morning, Sam smiled to himself. It was familiar and normal and part of what he missed. A few months before, he had thought his time in the White House had ended. Now he had come full circle with a better understanding of why he belonged here. It had been a rough transition from one place to the next, but one he did not regret making. In time, he might become used to being on the First Lady's radar — although, right now, the idea terrified him.

"Have you heard anything I've said?" Josh demanded.

Sam shook his head. "Not a word."

"Hey, if I didn't say it before, I'm glad you're back."

Sam's smile deepened. "I am too, Josh, I am too."

_

* * *

_

Thanks to all of you who hung in there with me while I wrote this, especially those who were kind enough to leave reviews. I appreciated every one of them. Extra special thanks to Ecri who was there from the very first chapter and encouraged me every chapter along the way!


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